mi^ 


iilliilliiiiiiSSiit^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


CDUTHERN  CAUFORNIA 


CrtARLCS  A-  K€€L€R 


SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA 


SOVTHGRN- CALIFORNIA 

BY    CHARieSA-  KSCLCR- 
ILLVSTRATGD  •  WITH  •  DRAWINGS 
-FROA-  NATVRe  •  AND  •  rROH  •  PHO- 
TOGRAPHS-BY-  LGvise-A-  KeeieR- 


RING  •  OVT-  THe   •  OLD    R  IN6  •     IN  -    THe    •    NeW- 


SIXTY-SECOND   THOVSAND 


PASSGNGGR  •  DePARTAENT- 
•  SANTA  •  Fe  ■ 
•LOS    ANGCLeS  • 


l_rcq 


CONTENTS. 

PAGIi 

Introduction,         .......  7 

The  Desert, ii 

The  San  Bernardino  Valley,          ....  19 

The  San  Gabriel  Valley,            ....  35 

The  Sierra  Madre  Mountains,       •          .          ■          ■  53 

Santa  Catalina  Island,       .....  63 

Riverside  County,          ......  71 

San  Diego  County,             .....  87 

From  San  Diego  to  Los  Angeles,         .          .          .  105 

Los  Angeles,     .          .          .          .          .          .  113 

Santa  Barbara,       .......  121 

The  Missions, 123 

Conclusion,             .......  137 


193950 


INTRODUCTION 


IN  his  "  Intellectual  Developnieut  of  Europe,"  Draper 
calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  man  first  became 
established  in  civilized  communities,  in  regions 
where  agriculture  was  dependent  upon  a  regulated 
water  suppl}-,  as  in  Egypt,  where  the  banks  of  the 
Nile  were  watered  with  periodic  regularity  by  the 
floods,  and  in  Peru,  where  irrigation  furnished  .an 
unfailing  and  measiired  amount  of  moisture  for  the 
land.  Theorizing  upon  this  circumstance,  he  maintains 
that  there  is  a  relation  of  cause  and  effect  between  the 
control  of  water  for  agricultural  purposes  and  the  high 
degree  of  civilization  thus  early  instituted,  since  the 
uncertainty  of  the  crops  in  a  region  relj-iug  upon  rainfall 
for  their  successful  growth  prevented  the  formation  of  a 
stable  community,  which  should  increase  in  experience 
and  command  of  the  arts  from  generation  to  generation. 
The  force  of  this  theory  is  emphasized  not  a  little  bj- 
a  study  of  the  conditions  of  life  in  Southern  California, 
for  here  also  is  a  community  with  a  regulated  and  pre- 
dictable water  supply,  by  means  of  which  the  art  of 
agriculture  has  been  reduced  to  a  science,  so  that  the 
growers  of  fruit  do  not  need  to  watch  the  ^ 
skies  to  know  whether  their  crop  is  to  be 
lost  or  saved.  Indeed,  the  great  reservoirs 
in  the  mountains,  with  their  enormous  dams 
and  their  miles  of  irrigating  canals,  are  the 
vital  center  of  all  activity  in  Southern  Cali- 
fornia. B}'  means  of  these  canals  vast 
groves  of  oranges  have  supplanted  the  sage- 
brush, and  the  orange  industry  has  brought 
prosperity  and  plenty  to  the  country,  build- 


-k.i- 


iug  up  the  towns  and  making  Los  Augeles  a  metropolis 
of  modern  life  out  of  a  Mexican  pueblo. 

Nor  is  the  orange  the  onl}'  fruit  industry  of  the 
region,  for  here  grow  nearly  all  the  deciduous  fruits  of 
more  northern  countries  in  addition  to  the  olive,  fig, 
walnut  and  loquat.  Great  vineyards  supply  grapes  for 
the  table,  for  raisins  and  for  wine,  and  already  the  raisins 
of  the  El  Cajon  and  wines  of  Cucumonga  are  known 
throughout  the  land.  The  olive  oil,  too,  has  gained  an 
^',^    )  enviable  reputation 

for  its  purity  and  free- 
dom from  adultera- 
tion. Apiaries  are 
scattered  all  through 
the  country  and  the 
honey  made  from  Cali- 
fornia wild  flowers  has 
something  of  the  wild- 
sweetness  of  the  mountains  distilled  into  it. 
Great  fields  of  grain,  which  do  not  require  irrigation, 
reach  over  many  sections  of  the  country  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  follow,  while  the  uncultivated  tracts  are  given 
over  to  stock  and  sheep.  The  sheep  shearing,  so  pictur- 
esquely described  by  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  in  "Ramona," 
is  still  a  feature  of  the  springtime  in  many  districts. 

Although  these  pastoral  pursuits  form  so  large  and 
important  a  feature  of  life  in  Southern  California,  there 
is  another  phase  that  has  had  a  large  share  in  the  build- 
ing up  of  the  country.  Stories  of  a  wonderful  climate, 
of  open-air  life  all  the  year  round,  of  perennial  sunshine 
and  of  beauties  of  landscape  became  noised  abroad  over 
the  land.  People  heard  that  it  was  a  good  place  for  a 
home,  and  they  came  and  found  that  it  was  so.  Invalids 
came  with  their  families,  regained  their  health  and 
stayed.  They  wrote  home  to  their  friends  at  Chri.stmas 
time  that  they  were  enjoying  the  roses  and  violets  and 


orange  blossoms,  and  the  next  Christmas  their  friends 
came  also  to  escape  the  blizzards  and  pneumonia  of  the 
northern  States.  In  this  way  the  countrj-  has  been  built 
up,  health  and  pleasure  seekers  of  one  year  becoming  the 
settlers  of  the  next. 

On  New  Year's  day  of  this  year  I  went  to  Pasadena 
to  see  the  Tournament  of  Roses.  It  was  a  vision  of 
beautiful,  high-stepping  horses  garlanded  with  flowers, 
of  lovely  children  half  hidden  in  masses  of  bloom,  and 
fair  women  riding  in  coaches  of  flaming  blossoms. 
There  were  men  on  horseback  and  boys  on  wheels,  with 
flowers  over  and  around  all.  It  was  but  a  type  of  the 
flower  carnivals  and  fiestas  which  have  been  held  in  San 
Diego,  Los  Angeles,  Pasadena  and  Santa  Barbara  for  a 
number  of  jears,  and  is  an  illustration  of  the  love  for  the 
beautiful  things  of  out  of  doors  which  is  yearly  growing 
stronger  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  people  of  this 
favored  land. 


T-'^^PT^vTS'^i^ 


,,-^'  i^'-A' 


r^l 


THE   DESERT. 


.OUTHERN  CALIFORNIA  is  by 
no  means  one  continuous  garden 
of  fruits  and  flowers.  Extend- 
ing diagonally  across  the  land  from  north- 
west to  southeast  lies  the  San  Bernardino 
\J  Mountain  range,  and  in  proportion  as  its  coast- 
wise slope  is  an  earthly  paradise,  the  laud  which 
I  it  hems  in  from  the  sea  is  a  vast  and  dreary  desert. 
In  vain  the  moisture-laden  clouds  of  the  Pacific 
attempt  to  glide  over  the  snow}-  summits  of  San  Antonio 
and  San  Bernardino  ;  or,  if  perchance  they  do  reach  the 
enchanted  realm  of  the  desert,  they  are  generally  dissi- 
pated into  imperceptible  vapor  by  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
The  desert  is  a  region  of  arid  plains  and  barren  moun- 
tains. The  soil  is  of  sand  iucrusted  with  alkali,  and  the 
mountains  are  bold,  rock}-  and  inhospitable,  frequently 
in  the  shape  of  abrupt,  sharply  pointed  cones  with  miles 
of  disintegrated  rock,  known  as  talus,  sloping  away  from 
their  bases.  Again,  great  boulders  are  piled  in  chaotic 
heaps,  wrenched  and  wracked  by  the  elements,  worn  by 
the  action  of  waves  upon  this  prehistoric  ocean  shore, 
and  now  standing  as  silent  witnesses  of  the  vast  work  of 
ages.     Indeed,  there  is   alwa3S   something   cosmic  and 


elemental  about  the  desert.  We 
seem  to  be  transported  into  some 
earlier  geologic  time,  when  the 
heart  of  nature  lay  bare  to  the  action 
of  the    elements,    and    the    bleak 

barren  world  knew  not  the  songs  of  birds  nor  the  glory 
of  flowers.  And  herein  lies  the  wonder  of  it !  There 
is  a  fascination  in  its  very  sterility  — in  its  boundless 
expanse  and  its  haughty  disdain  of  all  that  is  tender  and 
lovely.  It  is  terrible  and  grand.  We  may  stand  upon 
an  eminence  and  gaze  for  unmeasured  miles  through  the 
pellucid  air  at  a  diversified  landscape  where  not  a  human 
being  dwells,  where  not  a  single  spring  or  rillet  can  be 
found  to  quench  the  thirst  of  man  or  beast,  where  blue, 
snow-topped  mountains  lie  off  on  the  horizon,  and  lesser 
crests  of  red  and  purple  and  gray  rise  all  about  us,  while 
overhead  the  pitiless  sun  beats  down  out  of  a  cloudless 
sky,  and  underfoot  the  glowing  sand  and  rock  reflect  its 
heat. 

The  desert  is  by  no  means  wholly  destitute  of  life, 
inhospitable  though  it  be.  The  grease-wood,  a  bush 
with  minute  leaves  of  a  dull  olive-green  color,  grows  in 
considerable  abundance,  and  a  number  of  pallid  grayish 
or  greenish  shrubs  spring  mysteriously  out  of  the  sand 
and  rock.  By  far  the  most  characteristic  plants  of  the 
desert  are  the  yuccas  and  cacti,  Avhich  seem  to  be  im- 
bued with  the  spirit  of  the  place,  being  invariably  armed 
with  spines,  thorns,  or  tiny  barbs  which  make  them 
wicked  neighbors.  The  most  conspicuous  form  of  plant 
life  on  the  Mojave  Desert  is  a  yucca  known  as  the  Joshua 
tree,  a  weird,  fantastic  form  growing  to  a  height  of 
about  twenty  feet,  with  long  stiff  bristling  green  daggers 
all  over  its  trunk  and  limbs  in  lieu  of  leaves,  and  with 
its  branches  bent  and  twisted  into  strange  shapes.  In 
patches  on  the  desert  this  plant  grows  in  sufficient  pro- 
fusion   to    form   one   of  those   paradoxes   in  which   the 


region  abounds  —  a  desert  forest,  and  a  deeary,  unearthly 
forest  it  is  ;  but  as  a  rule  the  yuccas  dot  the  landscape 
here  and  there,  interpersed  with  thorn}-  shrubs,  sandy 
wastes,  cacti  and  piles  of  rock.  There  are  countless 
species  of  cacti  found  here,  which  to  the  casual  observer 
have  but  one  constant  feature  —  their  spines  as  sharp 
and  as  rigid  as  needles,  which  are  a  perpetual  menace  to 
the  unwary. 

Many  species  of  birds  choose  this  waterless  region 
for  a  home,  among  the  most  striking  of 
which  are  the  far-famed  road-runner,  the 
cactus  wren,  the  mountain  mocking  bird, 
and  several  thrashers.  There  are  mammals, 
too,  that  have  learned  to  live  without  water 
— -the  little  spermophile  or  chipmunk  with 
the  white  underside  of  his  tail  which  shows  ,i. '  7^' 
so   conspicuously   as   he   scurries    away   to       (  \,  *' 

his  burrow;  and  the  pallid  desert  rat, 
fawn-colored  above  and  snowy  white  beneath,  with  large 
e3es,  long  hind  legs  and  conspicuous  cheek  pouches. 
Nearly  all  the  habitual  residents  of  the  desert  have  been 
bleached  to  a  very  pale  hue  by  the  action  of  the  intense 
sunlight  and  aridity. 

Corresponding  with  the  yuccas  and  cacti  in  plant  life 
are  the  snakes  and  lizards  among  the  animals  —  abundant 
in  number  and  variety,  strange  and  uncanny  in  form  and 
color.  They  are  peculiarh-  fitting  dwellers  in  this  strange 
land.  One  must  not  be  unmindful  of  the  warning  of  the 
rattlesnake  when  treading  these  heated  sands  and  avoid- 
ing the  bristling  spines  of  the  cactus. 

It  would  seem  that  a  land  armed  with  so  many 
devices  for  repelling  the  intruder  and  with  so  little  to 
temper  the  sternness  a  ^ 
of  environment  would ■'  "  /-f^^^^ 
be  shunned  by  man  as'  /f  j^^-.>^- v:<>v^f^5>C<^"-..-- -^ 
a  place  accursed  ;  but 


■^r- 


what  perils  and  privations  will  not  be  endured  for  gold  ! 
It  is  the  glitter  of  this  talisman  which  has  lured  many 
an  unhappy  prospector  to  his  death  on  this  waterless 
wilderness.  Todaj-  the  road  to  the  Rose  Mine  leads 
around  Dead  Man's  point  where,  years  ago,  the  body 
of  a  man  was  found  who  had  perished  of  thirst  within 
two  miles  of  the  Mojave  River. 

The  mining  prospector  is  a  product  of  this  sterile 
land.  His  whole  horizon  is  bounded  by  mineral.  The 
golden  sands  are  ever  just  beyond  his  grasp,  and  after  a 
life  of  toil,  privation  and  disappointment,  he  is  still  san- 
guine and  contented  with  his  lot  which  is  just  on  the 
verge  of  realizing  the  fondest  dreams  of  his  fancy. 
Doubtless  he  was  rocking  the  sands  of  the  Sacramento 
in  the  days  of  '49,  and  digging  for  silver  in  some  dark 
tunnel  in  Colorado  twenty  years  later.  Manj'  a  time 
during  the  fifty  years  of  his  toil  he  has  had  a  vein  of 
gold  which  was  to  make  his  fortune,  until,  alas,  it 
tapered  off  into  the  thickness  of  a  sheet  of  paper  a  few 
feet  below  ;  but  now,  unshaken  by  past  lessons,  he  is 
more  sanguine  than  ever.  He  has  a  claim  which  is 
certain  to  prove  a  bonanza.  The  ore  has  not  yet  been 
assaj'ed,  but  he  will  tell  3'ou  of  it  with  as  firm  conviction 
as  if  the  gold  were  already  stored  awaj'  in  the  capacious 
pockets  of  his  coat,  instead  of  in  those  mysterious  pock- 
ets of  mother  nature,  which  are  so  jealously  hidden 
away. 

Such  is  the  type  of  man  who  goes  about  the  country 
opening  up  new  gold  fields,  or  following  in  the  wake  of 
an  excitement.  With  his  pick  upon  his 
shoulder  he  wanders  over  the  sterile 
wastes  looking  for  outcroppings  of  min- 
eral ledges.  He  knows  a  smattering  of 
geology  and  mineralogy  gleaned  from 
years  of  intercourse  with  mother  earth 
and  her  followers,  and  he  can  talk  learn- 


er: j*.==yj 


etlly  of  faults,  ledges,  veius  and  all  that  appertains  to 
his  craft.  Having  located  a  vein  which  seems  promis- 
ing, he  takes  up  a  claim  and  goes  to  work,  with  a 
partner,  sinking  a  prospecting  shaft.  As  soon  as  the 
hole  becomes  deep  enough  to  warrant  it,  a  windlass  is 
rigged  up  over  it,  and  while  one  man  digs  and  fills  the 
bucket,  the  other  hoists  it  and  wheels  off  the  rock  in  his 
iron  barrow.  Thus  they  toil,  blasting  and  picking,  rais- 
ing and  lowering  their  bucket  from  morning  till  night. 
A  rough  forge  is  one  of  the  first  requisites,  for  the  rocks 
soon  wear  off  the  point  of  the  pick  and  it  mu.st  be  fre- 
quently sharpened.  If  the  ore  looks  promising  enough 
to  make  it  seem  worth  while  continuing  at  the  shaft,  or 
if  there  is  enough  faith,  money  and  perseverance  back 
of  the  enterprise,  the  windlass  turned  by  hand  gives 
place  in  time  to  a  derrick  with  horse  power  to  raise  the 
bucket  of  ore. 

Should  the  miners  have  success  in  their  work,  and 
after  months  of  arduous  toil  make  a  "strike,"  a  flag  is 
triumphantly  nailed  to  the  pole  surmounting  the  derrick 
where  a   forlorn  white  rag  has    been    fluttering.      The 
number  of  men  has  by  this  time  been  doubled  or  trebled, 
and  more  outside  capital  has  been  invested  in  the  enter-    / 
jirise.     The  bo3's  of  the  camp  have  a  great  jollification  /i*^vi 
over  the  good  news,  and  when  work   is  resumed,   the  \,'/'*^^i| 
task  of  digging  out  the  ore  and  hauling  it  to  the  nearest       )^' 
stamp  mill  is   commenced.     The  prospecting  hole  has       ^ 
become  a  mine,  and,  if  successful,  calls  into  Ijcing  a  host 
of  others  about  it.  '. 

The  stamp  mill  is  built  upon  a  steep  bank  and  the 
ore  is  dumped  at  the  highest  point  in  the  rear  of  the 


mill,  working  down  through  the 
various  stages  by  the  force  of  gravity. 
It  is  first  crushed  by  the  great  steel- 
shod  stamps  which  rise  and  fall  with 
a  deafening  noise,  pounding  up  the 
ore  and  mixing  it  with  a  stream  of 
water  into  a  liquid  pulp.  It  then 
passes  over  the  steel  plates  coated  with 
quicksilver,  and  finally  over  the  rub- 
ber bands  of  the  condensers,  particles 
of  gold  being  extracted  at  each  stage 
of  the  process. 
There  are  gold  mines  and  rumors  of  mines  scattered 
all  along  the  Mojave  Desert,  from  The  Needles  to  Victor, 
including  Oro  Grande  and  the  now  famous  camp  at 
Randsburg,  but  they  do  not  by  any  means  exhaust  the 
mineral  resources  of  these  wonderful  mountains  and 
plains.  The  most  extensive  borax  mines  in  the  world 
are  located  here,  and  salt  is  taken  out  of  the  mountains 
in  great  crj-stallized  blocks.  Here  too,  are  quarries  of 
marble,  granite  and  lime,  with  innumerable  other  min- 
eral treasures  to  be  developed  by  the  intelligent  appli- 
cation of  brains  and  capital. 

The  mines,  situated  as  they  are  from  five  to  fifty 
miles  from  the  nearest  railroad  station,  demand  another 
industry  which  is  characteristic  of  the  desert  —  teaming. 
Water  and  provisions  for  men  and  horses,  mining  appli- 
ances and  the  numberless  necessities  of  a  mining  camp 
are  transported  bj'  freight  teams  across  the  long  reaches 
of  desert,  and  for  this  purpose  ver}'  large,  heavily  loaded 
wagons  are  employed,  drawn  by  from  four  to  ten  or 
twelve  horses  or  mules.  Two  wagons  are  frequently 
fastened  together,  and  the  horses  driven  in  one  team. 
Pack  mules  are  also  used  for  transporting  supplies  to 
and  from  the  mines,  and  a  train  of  these  patient  little 
burros  with  their  great  packs  strapped  securely  to  their 


backs  but  wobbliug  with  every  motion  :1 
of  the  beast,  is  an  exceedingly  pic-  ^ 
turesque  spectacle. 

Nor  do  the  resources  of  the  desert 
end  with  its  minerals.  Unaccount- 
able as  it  seems,  this  barren,  sandy 
soil  only  needs  water  to  make  it  bear  abundant  crops. 
B}-  the  proper  direction  and  application  of  the  waters  of 
the  Mojave  River  certain  portions  of  the  region  can  be 
converted  into  a  garden  of  wonderful  fertility.  Nature 
has  demonstrated  this  by  the  grove  of  beautiful  cotton- 
woods  and  willows  which  line  its  shores,  and  which  in 
summer  form  an  oasis  of  refreshing  shade  upon  leaving 
the  heat  of  the  sandy  wastes.  This  river  is  not  like  the 
steady  reliable  streams  of  more  favored  lands.  Rising 
in  the  San  Bernardino  Mountains,  it  flows  off  over  the 
desert  for  some  distance,  a  goodly  stream  of  cold  moun- 
tain water,  and  presently  disappears  wholly  from  view. 
After  flow^ing  for  some  distance  as  an  invisible  "sink" 
it  emerges  again  as  a  rather  broad  but  shallow  stream. 
Finall}'  it  is  once  more  dissipated  in  the  desert  sand  and 
gives  up  the  unequal  contest  for  supremacy,  vanishing 
forever,  partly  drunken  up  by  the  thirst}-  sand  and 
partly  evaporated  into  the  arid  sky. 

Stockraising  is  successfully  carried  on  in  places 
along  the  Mojave  River  where  the  bimch  grass  grows. 
Cattle  seem  to  thrive  on  the  scanty  fare  of  the  desert 
when  it  might  well  be  supposed  that  they  would  starve 
to  death. 

The    men   of    the    desert    are    bronzed,    hardy   and 
rugged,   sickness  being   almost  un- 
known  among   them    even    during 
the  hottest  sum- 
mer   weather. 
The  extreme  arid- 
ity, together  with 


^f-^t-i— 


the  tonic  effects  of  a 
;^  moderate  altitude, make 
the  climate  most  whole- 
some and  invigorating. 
Nor  is  there  quite  the 
"  monotony  of  weather 
which  one  might  be  led  to  assume.  During  the  winter 
months  the  nights  are  cold  and  frosty,  and  there  is  an 
occasional  flurr}'  of  snow,  although  the  days  are  usually 
mild  and  even  hot  at  noon  time.  The  few  spring 
showers  coax  a  great  profusion  of  wild  flowers  into  being 
out  of  the  warm  sand,  and  for  a  few  weeks  the  desert 
blooms  like  a  garden.  The  strong  winds  of  March  and 
April  at  other  times  sweep  over  the  couutrj'  with  clouds 
of  sand,  and  during  the  summer  mouths  cloudbursts 
often  occur,  sending  great  torrents  of  water  down  dry 
ravines,  making  deep  cuts  and  deluging  ever3'thing 
within  their  track. 

I  have  not  touched  upon  a  tithe  of  the  wonders  that 
entrance  and  awe  the  observer  in  this  strange  land. 
Here  are  sunrises  of  weird  grandeur,  when  the  sharp 
peaks  in  shades  of  blue  and  plumbago  jut  into  a  sky  of 
transparent  green  and  gold,  and  sunsets  of  crimson  fire 
above  the  blue,  snow-crowned  San  Bernardino  Range, 
with  fantastic  yuccas  sprawling  their  silhouettes  against 
the  light,  and  blackbirds  clanging  in  a  throng  at  their 
roosting  place  among  the  cottonwoods.  Then  the  dark- 
ness falls  and  the  stars  flash  and  scintillate  in  dazzling 
splendor  in  the  transparent  atmosphere.  Trulj'  the 
desert  hath  its  charms  for  him  who  is  not  blind  to  the 
ever-present  wonders  of  nature  ! 


'4    ^JilL:a 


THE  SAN    BERNARDINO   VAI^LEY. 


I OUNTAINS  are  a  dominaut  feature  in  nearly 
every  Califoruiah  landscape.  They  com- 
mand all  approaches  to  the  State,  and  he 
who  would  gain  this  garden  of  the  Hesper- 
ides  must  first  cross  the  desert  and  then 
scale  the  heights.  The  passenger  on  the 
Santa  Fe  road,  as  on  other  transconti- 
nental lines  to  Southern  California,  gets 
his  first  impression  of  this  noble  State  on 
the  desert.  As  seen  from  the  railroad,  it 
is  only  too  often  but  a  hot,  dreary,  dusty 
waste,  uninteresting  and  barren,  and  in  the 
hurry  of  travel  its  unique  picturesqueness 
and  vast  undeveloped  resources  are  alike 
overlooked.  But  he  approaches  the  blue 
line  of  the  San  Bernardino  Mountains,  and 
is  told  that  once  across  them  he  will  be  in 
the  land  of  flowers  and  orange  groves. 
At  Victor  the  ascent  begins.  The  engine 
labors  and  the  train  moves  more  slowly 
over  the  desert.  Hesperia,  with  its  great 
groves  of  yuccas,  is  passed,  and  still  the 
desert  is  about  us.  The  grade  becomes  steeper  ^s  we 
penetrate  into  the  heart  of  the  mountains  which  tower 
many  thousand  feet  above  us.  The  vegetation  gradually 
changes,  but  still  preserves  the  characteristics  of  the 
desert.  Another  species  of  yucca  is  noted,  locally  known 
as  the  Spanish  bayonet  —  a  bunch  of  stiff,  spear-like 
leaves  springing  from  the  rocky  soil,  and  one  stalk  bear- 
ing the  blossom,  but  often  withered,  growing  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  clump  to  the  height  of  several  feet.     The 


long  level  sweeps  of  the  desert  give 
place  to  intricate  rolling  hills,  over 
which  the  railroad  establishes  a  uni- 
form grade  bj'  means  of  numerous 
cuts.  Dry  creek  beds  are  here  larger 
and  more  numerous,  showing  that  at 
times  the  water  of  sudden  storms  is 
carried  away  from  the  mountains  in 
roaring  torrents.  Here  and  there 
clumps  of  manzanita  bushes  grow, 
and  again  huge  rocks  stand  out 
naked  and  grim  on  the  face  of  the  mountain. 

We  pass  Summit  through  a  cut  in  the  mountains  and 
commence  descending  through  the  Cajou  Pass.  A  few 
stunted  pine  trees  cling  to  the  mountain  sides,  but  in 
general  the  soil  is  still  sandy  and  scantily  clothed  with 
vegetation.  Is  this,  then,  the  far-famed  garden  land  of 
California  ?  Patience  !  A  few  wild  flowers  spring  from 
the  sand  beside  the  track.  A  stream  of  water  winds 
here  and  there  over  its  gravelly  and  sandy  bed.  We 
pass  the  station  of  Irvingtou  with  its  hives  of  bees,  and 
consider  that  where  there  are  bees  there  must  be  flowers. 
Yes,  ofi"  there  on  the  hillside  is  a  patch  of  gold  where  a 
bed  of  Eschscholtzias,  commonly  called  California  pop- 
pies, has  spread  its  radiant  coverlet.  We  see  below  us, 
now  and  then,  glimpses  of  a  valley,  blue  and  beautiful 
in  its  misty  reaches,  and  before  we  realize  it  we  are  in 
San  Bernardino,  situated  in  the  midst  of  one  of  those 
peerless  vallej'S  which  are  a  wonder  and  a  joy. 

But,  reader,  do  not  expect  to  see  San  Bernardino 
from  a  railroad  train  or  from  the  station  platform.  You 
might  as  well  undertake  to  judge  of  a  painting  by 
examining  a  strip  an  inch  wide  along  its  margin.  Nor  can 
San  Bernardino  be  seen  from  the  windows  of  your  hotel. 
Go  on  foot,  on  horseback,  on  a  wheel,  in  a  carriage  — 
go  in  any  way  that  you  find  most  pleasant  and  couven- 


lent,  and  get  near  to  nature.  California  is  essentially  an 
out-of-doors  country,  and  can  only  be  known  and  appre- 
ciated by  those  who  love  nature  and  know  how  to  get 
acquainted  with  her  on  terms  of  intimacy. 

It  may  be  said  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  San  Bei*- 
nardino  Valley,  as  Caesar  said  of  the  Helvetians,  that 
they  are  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  the  nature  of  the 
country,  except  that  in  Caesar's  time  there  were  no  trans- 
continental railways  running  through  Helvetia  as  there 
now  are  at  San  Bernardino,  and  herein  is  an  important 
difference.  But  the  mountains  almost  completely  encir- 
cle this  broad,  fair  valley,  rising  on  the  north  and  east 
to  the  height  of  twelve  and  thirteen  thousand  feet,  in 
such  imposing  peaks  as  San  An- 
tonio, San  Bernardino  and  San 
Gorgonio. 

The  town  of  San  Bernardino  is 
the  distributing  and  outfitting 
point  for  a  large  mining  district 
to  the  north  and  east.  It  has  a 
commercial  importance  as  a  rail- 
road center,  and  although  oranges  , 
are  not  successfully  grown  in  its  im-  - 1^% 
mediate  vicinity,  it  is  surrounded  _^ 
by  one  of  the  finest  citrus  belts  in  c^rrTiT 
the  State.  The  car  shops  of  the 
Santa  Fe  road  are  situated  here.  This  combination  of 
industries  makes  the  town  one  of  unusual  activity  for  a 
population  of  but  little  more  than  ten  thousand,  and  its 
main  street  is  a  bustling  thoroughfare.  The  courthouse, 
in  spite  of  its  unfortunate  location,  is  a  structure  which 
many  a  larger  city  might  point  to  with  pride.  It  is  built 
of  rough  gray  stone,  is  well  proportioned  and  richly 
decorated. 

In  the  main,  however,   the  architecture  here,  as  in 
most  of  the  towns  and  cities  of  California,  north  and 


'*-..  -r=»->?S^' 


<,-<«^- 


**'- 


south  alike,  leaves  mucli  to 
be  desired  in  taste  and  refine- 
ment. Still,  nature  quickly 
atones  for  the  inexperience  of 
man,  and  in  a  surprisingly 
short  space  of  time  will  hide 
the  most  commonplace  struc- 
ture under  a  bower  of  lovely 
leaves  and  blossoms ;  and  we 
may  also  take  comfort  in  the 
fact  that  all  over  this  Pacific 
slope  people  are  rapidly  awakening  to  a  realization  of 
the  fact  that  architecture  must  be  fitting  to  the  land- 
scape in  which  it  is  placed,  and  that  what  we  need  here 
is  more  sympathy  with  our  surroiindiugs,  more  sim- 
plicity, more  thought  in  our  buildings,  both  public  and 
private. 

But  if  the  houses  of  San  Bernardino  lack  anything  in 
picturesque  effect,  much  has  been  done  to  atone  for  this 
by  the  unconscious  taste  shown  in  the  improvement  of 
the  landscape.  Instead  of  marring  the  face  of  nature  as 
is  so  often  the  case  with  human  interference,  man  has 
vastly  enhanced  its  beauties.  Water  has  been  developed  • 
here  in  great  abundance,  both  in  immense  storage  reser- 
voirs in  the  mountains,  and  in  artesian  wells,  which  are 
numerous  and  flow  in  powerful  streams.  By  means  ot 
this  abundant  water  supply,  a  country  originally  largely 
covered  with  sand  and  chamiso  —  a  hard, 
^  ungraceful   shrub  —  has   been   converted 

_^,  ,^  ^  into  a  park  of  Arcadian  loveliness.     He 

who  visits  this  spot  in  the  springtime, 
when  all  over  the  country  the  fresh, 
brilliant  green  grain  is  spreading  abroad 
its  mantle,  when  the  pink  peach  blos- 
soms stand  out  in  contrast  to  the  deep 
Miie  of  the  lofty  mountains  behind  them, 


aud  the  rows  of 
cottonwoods  by 
the  roadside,  aud 
the  alders  alonj,' 
the  arroyo  are 
leafing  out  in 
delicate  spring 
1,^^,;^,  green,  when  great 

I  -  =  —-.-  fleecy  clouds 

are  piled  about  the  mountain  tops,  making  the  sky 
between  them  a  deeper,  more  transparent  blue  than 
ever  —  he  who  is  so  fortunate  as  to  see  the  San  Bernar- 
dino Valley  at  this  time  will  feel  while  he  is  under  its 
spell  that  it  is  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth.  The  meadow 
lark  by  the  roadside  sounds  its  loud,  sweet  flute  call, 
and  the  irrigating  ditch  ripples  along,  reflecting  now  the 
green  of  the  meadow  and  again  the  blue  of  heaven.  It 
is  a  land  wherein  the  poet  may  dream  dreams  and  the 
painter  see  visions.  It  is  a  land  which  ought  in  the 
course  of  time  produce  a  race  of  poets  and  painters  —  a 
second  Greece  !  Here  stretches  the  new  vale  of  Tempe. 
Aloft  rise  the  heights  of  a  second  Parnassus  and  Olym- 
pus. In  such  mountain  fastnesses,  impenetrable  and 
remote,  where  clouds  rolled  amid  the  mighty  pine  forests 
or  rested  upon  austere  and  barren  summits  of  rock  and 
snow,  dwelt  the  gods  of  Greece,  and  may  not  we,  even 
though  born  in  a  more  credulous  time,  find  here  the 
inspiration  for  a  literature  and  an  art  which  shall  rival 
that  of  old  ? 

As  we  leave  the  cultivated  portions  of  the  valley  and 
approach  the  San  Bernardino  Mountains,  new  forms  of 
beauty  are  in  waiting.  In  the 
springtime  the  sandy  wastes  are 
converted  into  a  boundless  flower 
garden  —  a  cloth  of  gold  woven 
with   a   pattern   of   white,    green. 


23 


N^^ 


,    .f^/  ^r..:i     ^^^ 


purple  and  blue.  Approaching  still  nearer  to  the  foot- 
hills, we  find  canyons  creasing  their  sides,  in  which  alders 
and  s_vcamores  are  just  coming  into  leaf.  Ranches  are 
nestled  close  up  to  the  rugged  slopes  of  the  mountains 
where  oranges  are  grown  and  where  bees  store  their 
honey.  The  slopes  of  the  mountain  are  largely  over- 
grown with  the  harsh  chaparral,  varied  now  and  then  by 
patches  of  the  fragrant  yerba  santa  or  an  occasional 
buckthorn  bush,  completely  covered  with  delicate  white 
blossoms.  Ascending  still  higher  on  the  narrow  moun- 
tain road  which  turns  and  winds  in  and  out  and  around, 
we  have  glorious  panoramic  views  of  the  vast  reach  of 
valle}'  and  the  far-awa}'  mountains  melting  into  a  blue 
haze  on  the  horizon.  Here  and  there  a  pine  tree,  dwarfed 
and  forlorn,  clings  to  the  rocky  wall  of  a  canyon,  down 
which  flows  a  pure  stream  of  mountain  water. 

On  a  level  bench  upon  the  side  of  the  mountains,  just 
below  the  striking  landmark  which  has  given  the  place 
its  name,  are  the  Arrowhead  Springs  —  a  grouj)  of  hot 


the  rocks,  sendmg  forth  a  perpet-      \^>-'if  ^■^^3' 

ual  cloud  of  steam.     It  is  not  diffi-      ^]^<&'f^?: 

cult  to  understand  the  association       ^W=^ 

with  such  phenomena  as  this,  in    ^.   't 

the   minds  of   primitive  men,   of 

spirits  of  the  nether  world,  demons 

and  oracles.     We  are  here  brought 

face  to  face  with  those  mysterious 

forces  which  have  had  so  large  a  share  in  the  fashioning 

of  this  world   in  which  we  live.     The  hotel   formerly 

occupying  a  commanding  site  beside  these  springs  has 

been  burned,  and  as  yet  has  not  been  rebuilt. 

Another  road  climbs  to  the  crest  of  the  mountains 
where  the  Squirrel  Inn  is  located.  A  few  years  ago  Mr. 
Adolph  Wood,  the  manager  of  the  Arrowhead  Reservoir 
Company,  read  Frank  Stockton's  story,  "The  Squirrel 


25 


Inn,"  and  was  so  im- 
pressed by  its  novel  sug- 
gestiveness  that  he  deter- 
mined to  carry  out  some 
of  its  ideas.  The  result 
was  a  club,  with  its  head- 
quarters on  the  topmost 
ridge  of  the  San  Bernar- 
dino Range,  overlooking 
the  vast  expanse  of  moun- 
tain and  vallej'  below  it. 
The  club  building  is  a  log  house  with  a  great  rough 
stone  fireplace,  and,  surrounding  it  among  the  pines,  are 
smaller  log  cabins,  the  summer  homes  of  the  members, 
whither  they  repair  during  the  hot  months  to  enjoy  the 
peace  of  nature  and  the  balm  of  the  pine  woods.  Every- 
thing about  the  club  has  been  left  in  a  state  of  nature. 
The  architecture  is  singularly  in  keeping  with  the  spot, 
and  much  taste  has  been  shown  in  the  designing  of  the 
artistic  cottages  which  blend  so  perfectly  with  their  sur- 
roundings. The  Arrowhead  Reservoir  Company  is  mak- 
ing preparations  to  ac-  _j  ^  _^  .  .  ^,..- 
cumulate  and  distribute  Biusr- 
water  on  an  immense 
scale  throughout  this 
region. 

Looking  at  the  valley 
in  the  springtime  when 
the  ground  is  carpeted 
with  flowers  and  the  air 
is  warm  and  soothing,  it 
is  hard  to  realize  that  a 
drive  of  two  or  three 
hours  would  take  the 
traveler  into  dense  for- 
ests of  pine,  with  snow 


perhaps  several  feet  iu  depth;  but  such  is  the  case,  and 
a  winter  among  these  mountains  is  not  unlike  one  in 
Canada,  even  to  the  snowshoes  or  skees,  which  are  indis- 
pensable to  locomotion.  Such  is  Southern  California! 
A  titan  might  make  snowballs  among  these  mountains 
and  hurl  them  down  upon  the  heavily  laden  orange  trees 
growing  at  their  base. 

Nine  miles  southeast  of  San  Bernardino  lies  the  town 
of  Redlands  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  great  citrus  belts 
of  Southern  California.     The  growth  of  this  district  has 


been  phenomenal.  Ten  years  ago  the  small  village  of 
Lugonia,  adjacent  to  the  present  site  of  Redlands,  gave 
scarcely  a  hint  of  the  resources  of  the  country  so  soon  to 
be  realized.  At  that  time  a  number  of  Chicago  men 
organized  a  company  for  the  purpose  of  forming  a  set- 
tlement in  California,  and  the  district  about  Lugonia 
was  chosen  for  their  prospective  town.  Others  were 
soon  attracted  to  the  spot,  and  a  village,  almost  a  city, 
was  built  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time.  In  the 
business  portion  of  the  town  the  houses  are  of  red  brick, 
the  sidewalks  of  cement,  and  the  streets  paved  with 
vitrified  brick.     Upon  leaving  this  section  we  come  to 


streets  and  avenues  where  palms,  acacias  and  pepper 
trees  line  the  way  for  miles,  while  about  the  comfortable 
homes  of  the  inhabitants  are  groves  of  orange  trees 
loaded  with  their  golden  fruit.  Kverywhere  are  signs 
of  prosperity  and  contentment.  The  rolling  hills  for 
miles  about  are  covered  with  orange  groves,  mostly  in 
small  holdings  of  from  five  to  twenty  acres,  and  all 
showing  a  state  of  care  and  cultivation  which  speaks 
well  for  the  thrift  of  the  people. 

Despite  the  newness  of  the  town,  we  are  here  in  the 
midst  of  associations  with  a  varied  and  romantic  past. 
Just  outside  of  Redlands,  on  what  is  known  as  the 
Barton  Villa  tract,  stand  the  crumbling  adobe  ruins  of 

the  first  building  in  the  val- 
ley. At  some  time  during 
the  early  part  of  the  century 
the  peaceful  Indians  dwell- 
ing in  the  San  Bernardino 
Valley  applied  to  the  Fran- 
ciscan Fathers  at  the  Mission 
San  Gabriel,  requesting  that 
stock-raising  be  introduced 
in  their  country.  In  the 
year  1822  their  request  was  granted,  and  upon  the  site  of 
the  present  ruins,  the  adobe  walls,  so  characteristic  of 
the  Spanish  settlement,  were  reared.  Tiles  were  baked 
for  a  flooring,  and  the  roof  was  of  thatched  tules. 
Although  an  outlying  post  of  the  Mission  San  Gabriel 
and  under  the  direct  supervision  of  the  mission  fathers, 
it  was  not,  properly  speaking,  a  mission,  and  little 
seems  to  be  know'n  of  the  details  of  its  history.  Stock- 
raising  was  the  only  pursuit  considered  profitable  then, 
and  for  a  long  time  to  come,  although  small  orchards 
and  vineyards  were  planted  to  supply  the  local  needs 
In  1832,  the  Indians,  becoming  dissatisfied  with  their 
restraint,  rebelled,  and  destroyed  the  hacienda,  but  it 


,A 


28 


was  promptly  rebuilt.  Shortly  after  this,  however,  the 
padres  were  deprived  of  their  authority  by  the  decree  of 
secularization,  and  the  entire  district  was  divided  into 
extensive  cattle  ranches,  controlled  by  Mexicans. 

This  state  of  affairs  continued  without  interruption, 
save  for  occasional  Indian  difficulties,  for  nearly  twenty 
j'ears,  when  a  new  element  was  added  to  the  life  of  the 
vallej'. 

Brigham  Young  wished  to  have  a  colony  at  some 
point  near  the  Pacific  Coast,  from  which  European 
emigrants  en  route  for  Salt  Lake  City  n;ight  start  on 
their  overland  journey,  and  after  some  negotiations  with 
the  holders  of  Mexican  grants  in  the  San  Bernardino 
Valley,  a  large  tract  was  purchased  on  credit.  Accord- 
ingly, in  the  spring  of  1851  a  party  of  Mormons  camped 
in  the  Cajon  Pass  and  looked  down  upon  the  valley 
which  was  to  be  their  future  home.  There  were  some 
fifty  wagons  drawn  b}'  oxen  in  this  first  train,  followed 
shortly  afterward  by  other  parties,  swelling  the  number 
in  all  to  about  eight  hundred  people.  Soon  after  their 
arrival,  rumors  of  an  Indian  uprising  were  rife  in  the 
valley.  The  new  settlers  left  the  highlands  where  they 
were  encamped  for  the  more  open  part  of  the  plain, 
and  here  constructed  a  wooden  stockade,  within  which 
they  made  their  camp.  The  Mexican  settlers  also 
repaired  to  the  fort  or  its  vicinity  for  shelter,  and  their 
cattle  were  herded  near  by.  Truly  this  was  a  strange 
mingling  of  families  seeking  shelter  from  a  common 
foe  —  the  ardent  Catholic  and  the  zealous  disciples  of 
Joseph  Smith  ! 

The  Indian  uprising  did  not  prove  as  serious  as  was 
anticipated,  and,  in  the  course  of  time,  the  Mormons 
were  located  upon  home  sites 
about  the  valley.     With  char- 
acteristic   energy    they    com-  ■'^^V.-  ^^f[m    ^^f^-""'''-       'V''«   ^''i^ 
menced  their  labors.    A  road          ,'?^'-;^^^^^-^^'^^'-.i'iiAi 


<^F^d 


was  built  to  the  top  of  the 
mountains,  where  a  sawmill 
was  erected  and  the  work 
of  cutting  lumber  for  their 
homes  commenced.  Irrigat- 
ing ditches  were  dug,  fruit 
trees  were  planted,  and  large 
tracts  were  sown  with  grain. 
The  country  became  pros- 
perous, and  strangers  were 
gradually  being  attracted  to  the  valley  and  settling 
there.  The  Mormons  did  not  assimilate  with  their 
Gentile  neighbors,  and  friction  between  the  two  ele- 
ments had  become  so  great  by  1857  that  serious  difficulty 
was  apprehended,  when  an  unexpected  event  largely  put 
an  end  to  the  trouble. 

President  Buchanan,  desiring  to  take  the  control  of 
affairs  in  Utah  out  of  the  hands  of  Brigham  Young, 
appointed  a  governor  for  the  territory,  whereupon  the 
great  Mormon  leader  prepared  to  resort  to  arms  in  sup- 
port of  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  right.  He  called 
upon  all  the  faithful  to  assemble  in  defense  of  their 
cause,  and  a  large  majority  of  the  Mormons  in  the  San 
Bernardino  Valley,  who  w^ere  just  beginning  to  realize 
their  hopes  of  a  happy  home  in  this  fruitful  region,  sold 
out  their  property  at  a  sacrifice  and  started  on  the  long 
journey  over  the  desert  to  fight  at  the  command  of  their 
leader  in  an  unworthy  cause.  Some  refused  to  go,  and 
the  remnants  of  the  band  still  live  about 
Redlauds  and  San  Bernardino. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Mormons, 
the  country  was  largely  given  over  to  the 
lawlessness  of  a  town  on  the  confines  of 
civilization.  There  were  Indian  incur- 
sions and  local  brawls  for  many  years, 
but   peace   and    prosperity   at    last    pre- 


GANYON  CRB6T  DRIVE. 


vailed.  It  is  only  of  late  that  the  great  possibilities 
of  the  country  in  the  raising  of  citrus  fruits  has  been 
realized. 

There  is  little  in  the  modern  town  of  Redlands  to 
indicate  the  stirring  history  of  the  district.  To  be  sure, 
a  wagon,  driven  by  a  swarthy  Mexican  wearing  a  broad 


SMILEY   DRIVE. 

sombrero  and  bright  red  neckscarf,  rumbles  along  the 
streets  of  the  town  every  now  and  then,  and  the  burros 
are  an  ever-present  feature  along  the  main  throughfare, 
but  they  all  seem  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the 
elegant  equipages  which  would  do  credit  to  Central 
Park  or  Fifth  avenue.  Many  people  of  wealth  have 
chosen  Redlands  as  a  home  for  at  least  a  part  of  the  year, 
and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  note  that  some  among  them  are 
sufficiently  interested  in  the  place  to  spend  their  money 
freely  in  public  adornment  and  improvement.     Among 


3» 


these  the  most  conspicuous  are  the  Messrs.  A.  H.  and 
A.  K.  Smiley,  who  have  laid  out  an  extensive  and  beau- 
tiful park  about  their  residences,  and  thrown  it  open  to 
the  public.  The  drive  through  these  grounds  follows 
the  backbone  of  a  ridge  separating  the  San  Bernardino 
Valley,  or  the  upper  Santa  Ana,  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
from  the  San  Timotheo  Canyon,  a  long  narrow  gorge 
which  is  in  the  main  as  nature  fashioned  it.  The  out- 
look along  this  narrow  ridge  is  imposing  and  beautiful, 
with  the  bare  canjon  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the 
low  rolling  hills  of  Redlands  covered  with  orange  trees 


ftjpffiep 


'  "K«.  Jli^-vJ  i     LiUCryt^CJl.    --  ..: 


and  leading  off  by  imperceptible  degrees  across  the  blue 
reaches  of  the  valley  to  the  lofty  snow-capped  mountains 
beyond.  The  road  winds  through  a  bewildering  tangle 
of  tropical  plants  —  palms,  bamboos,  acacias,  sweet- 
scented  vines  and  flowers  of  brilliant  color,  making  a 
picturesque  combination  with  the  panoramas  and  vistas 
leading  to  snow-topped  mountains,  that  has  given  this 
Canyon  Crest  drive  the  name  of  being  one  of  the  features 
of  a  trip  to  Southern  California. 

A  large  substantial  building  has  also  been  erected  by 
these  same  public-spirited  men  as  a  gift  to  the  town  for 
its  public  library.  It  is  centrally  located  and  surrounded 
by  a  park.     Another  feature  of  Redlands  which  cannot 


be  loo  highl}'  commeuded  is  the  placing 
of  its  grammar  and  high  school  build- 
ings upon  large  plots  of  land  laid  out 
in  extensive  playgrounds  and  tastefully 
arranged  parks.  Altogether  it  may  be  confidently  pre- 
dicted that  this  town  has  a  great  future  before  it,  with 
its  salubrious  and  health-giving  climate,  its  wealth, 
enterprise  and  great  reaches  of  productive  orange 
groves. 

It  is  a  ride  of  but  a  few  miles  from  Redlands  to  High- 
lands, the  road  traversing  the  valley,  with  the  mountain 
range  rising  abruptly  not  far  away.  Between  Mentoue 
and  East  Highlands  the  land  is  uncultivated  and  the 
contrast  is  most  striking  after  viewing  the  miles  of 
orange  trees.  Here  the  soil  is  sandy,  full  of  boulders, 
and  half  covered  with  harsh  shrubs  which  are  but  one 
degree  removed  from  the  plants  of  the  desert.  It  is  a 
striking  illustration  of  the  change  which  has  been 
wrought  throughout  Southern  California  by  the  aid  of 
the  irrigating  ditches.  At  Highlands  we  are  once  more 
in  the  midst  of  a  productive  orange  district,  which 
extends  for  miles  along  the  foothills  above  San  Bernar- 
dino. 

This  portion  of  the  railroad  forms  the  upper  loop  of 
the  famous  Kite-shaped  Track,  which  extends  in  the  form 
of  a  modern  race  track  through  the  very  heart  of  South- 
ern California.  The  excursion  over  this  track  from  Los 
Angeles  to  San  Bernardino,  around  the  loop]  through 
Redlands  and  Highlands  and  re-  •     >. 

crossing  at  San  Bernardino  to  the 
larger  loop  which  returns  to  Los 
Angeles  by  way  of  Orange,  can  be 
made  in  a  day,  affording  the  trav- 
eler an  opportunity  to  scan  a  large 
section  of  country.  The  Santa 
Ana  Canyon  between  Riverside  and 


Orange  is  a  lovely  valley  with  the  willow-friuged  stream 
hemmed  in  by  gracefully  rising  mountain  ranges,  and  in 
charming  contrast  to  the  great  areas  of  orange  groves 
and  the  intervening  patches  of  unreclaimed  mesa  land. 


THE  SAN   GABRIEL   VALLEY 


FROM  Sau  Bernardino  to  Los  Angeles  the  railroad 
traverses  a  succession  of  valleys  which  in  effect 
constitute  one  great  basin,  with  the  San  Bernar- 
dino and  Sierra  Madre  Mountains  hemming  it  in  to  the 
eastward,  and  an  irregular  range  of  hills  and  mountains 
on  the  westward,  now  expanding  and  again  contracting 
the  expanse  of  the  level  and  fertile  plain.  The  boun- 
daries of  the  various  sections  of  this  great  valley  are  not 
very  sharplj-  defined,  but  in  general  the  eastern  division 
is  termed  the  San  Bernardino  Valley,  the  western  section 
the  San  Gabriel  Valley,  while  the  inhabitants  of  Pomona, 
between  these  two,  are  proud  to  name  all  the  laud  in 
sight  after  their  fair  town. 

Four  miles  from  San  Bernardino  on  the  road  to  Los 
Angeles  is  the  town  of  Rialto,  devoted  to  fruit  culture, 
and  near  by  are  great  fields  of  canaigre,  a  species  of  dock 
which  is  used  extensively  in  the  tanning  of  leather. 
Cucamonga,  the  next  stopping  point,  is  famed  for  its 
vinej'ards  and  for  the  choice  wines  which  are  produced 
there.  As  the  train  rolls  swiftly  on  toward  the  great 
center  of  activity  of  Southern  California,  North  Ontario 
next  claims  the  traveler's  attention.  It  is  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  orange  district  and  connected  with  Ontario 
by  an  electric  railroad  which  traverses  the  country  in  a 
line  as  straight  as  a  bee's  flight  for  home,  the  car  track 
being    continuously    lined 


with  great  pepper  trees. 
This  line  ends  upon  the 
mesa  north  of  town,  at  the 
base   of   the  great   Mount 


v~> 


/I 


^rt 


fi 


Orvkt 


^yti^^^ 


Sail  Autouio,  one  of  the 
conimanding  landmarks  of 
the  district.  From  this 
mesa  may  be  had  one  of 
those  entrancing  views  of 
the  vast  valley  below  —  an 
endless  sweep  of  checkered 
color  and  misty  undulating 
line.  There  are  large  fruit 
packing  houses  at  North 
Ontario,  where  hundreds  of  *  ^?' 
carloads  of  oranges,  lemons 
and  dried  fruitsareannually 
packed  for  shipment. 

Ontario  is  a  peaceful,  contented  town.  As  iu  so 
many  other  places  in  Southern  California,  its  streets  are 
lined  with  pepper  trees,  palms  grow  in  great  profusion, 
and  the  eucalyptus  towers  aloft  in  imposing  columns. 
The  feverish,  unwholesome  days  of  the  boom  are  hap- 
pily long  since  over,  the  people  have  given  up  selling 
town  lots  on  the  desert,  and  instead  are  now  convert- 
ing the  wastes  into  orange  groves.  Nearly  everyone 
here  owns  a  wheel,  and  the  roads  about  town  have 
bicycle  paths  worn  along  their  sides,  making  wheeling 
very  comfortable.  There  is  also  a  regularly  constructed 
bicycle  path  beside  the  electric  car  line,  shaded  with 
pepper  trees.  I  saw  many  indications  in  Ontario  of 
quiet  rural  refinement,  and  an  evidence  of  peace  and 
moderate  prosperity.  It  is  a  place  of  homes  and  makes 
no  especial  bid  for  tourist  patronage  or  outside  support, 
although  I  found  an  excellent  hotel  and  many  Eastern 
people  who  had  escaped  into  this 
eddy  in  the  current  of  travel. 

romoiui,  which  is  connected  with 
North     Pomona    by 


TW1 


a  little  wheezy  steam 


:.^«s«r«"SlSs!i.-..:3' 


duinuiy,  is  a  coasidurably  larger  town  tliau  Ontario,  and 
likewise  the  center  of  the  citrus  and  olive  industry  of 
the  adjacent  valle}'  land.  From  the  San  Jose  hills  to  the 
northwest  of  the  town,  a  view  can  be  had  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  with  its  miles  of  orange  trees,  its 
mountains,  its  hills,  and  houses  embowered  amid  euca- 
lyptus and  pepper  trees  —  a  lovely  country  over  which 
the  goddess  Pomona  may  be  truly  said  to  preside.  Like 
Ontario,  Pomona  is  essentially  a  place  of  homes  and 
quiet  home  life,  of  peace  and  contentment.  It  is  such 
communities  as  this  that  form  the  backbone  of  Southern 
California's  prosperity — a  thoughtful,  conservative, 
industrious  people,  growing  their  fruit  and  gradually 
working  out  a  more  defined 
individuality  and  a  larger  in- 
telligence. 

Pomona  College,  a  Congre- 
gational institution  situated  at 
Claremont,  but  a  few  miles  out 
of  town,  exercises  a  strong  up- 
ward influence  upon  the  people, 
iud  the  schools  are  thoroughly 
m  touch  with  modern  ideas 
and  equipment. 

At  Pomona,  as  at  other  spots 
in  the  valley  region  where  the  land  is  fertile  and  the 
surrounding  country  beautiful,  the  Mexicans  were  the 
first  settlers,  and  traces  of  their  occupation  still  remain. 
A  large  clump  of  prickly  pear  is  the  infallible  sign  of 
their  settlement,  which  is  confirmed  by  the  adobe  walls 
not  far  removed.      One  of  the  houses,  which  is  today 
used  as  a  residence,. was  originally  a  mission  chapel,  and 
the  adjoining  home  was  built 
by  Don  Palomares,  the  first 
settler   in    the    valley,    who     %* 
received    a    Spanish     grant    ^%,\  //,r\^i*. 


i^^ 


19393( 


which  was  equivalent  to  a  small  principality.  The  house 
stands  today  embowered  by  the  vegetation  of  years,  a 
lovely  California  home  with  its  patio  where,  in  the  shade 
of  the  porch,  hangs  the  olla  filled  with  spring  water, 
with  orange  groves  surrounding  the  home,  and  the  song 
of  the  mocking  bird  still  shaping  those  full,  rich  modu- 
lations which  charmed  the  light-hearted  seiiorita  and  the 
gay  caballero  of  a  bygone  race. 

From  Pomona  to  Pasadena  is  less  than  an  hour's  run 
on  the  train,  passing  through  Lordsburg,  Gleudora, 
Azusa,  Monrovia,  Sierra  Madre  and  other  towns  devoted 
largely  to  the  culture  of  oranges,  olives  and  grapes. 
There  are  still  many  miles  of  desert  waste  between  the 
areas  of  cultivation,  which  are 
only  awaiting  the  application 
of  water  to  bring  forth  in  prod- 
igal bounty  the  wealth  of  grove 
and  vine.  These  wastes  are 
not  without  a  charm  of  their 
own,  however.  Here  is  the 
land  as  it  looked  when  Father 
^4  kK  Junipero  Serra  used  to  pace 
KA^  its  length  from  San  Diego  to 
'  * l''''jifi*^^^!l_  Monterey.  Sagebrush,  chamiso, 
grease-wood  and  chaparral  —  a 
vast  expanse  of  dull  green  and  gray  bushes,  generally 
no  higher  than  a  man's  waist,  with  sandy  or  adobe  soil, 
starred  in  spring  with  wild  flowers,  varied  here  and 
there  by  arroyos,  dry  creek  beds  of  gravel  and  sand, 
where  sycamores  and  live  oaks  form  groves  of  rare 
beauty  —  such  is  the  scenery  of  Southern  California 
where  man  has  not  altered  it.  But  the  picture  is  incom- 
plete if  the  blue  mountains  are  omitted,  or  the  far-away 
views  with  hints  of  the  mist  of  the  sea  and  hazy  islands 
half  visible  on  the  horizon. 

These  reveries  are  interrupted   by  the  appearance  of 


38 


^■«-^Vi^^,fe^ 


tnco    ni/«.nve.  - 

the  houses  of  Pasadena,  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive 
and  the  stopping  of  the  train  at  Pasadena  station  beside 
a  little  park  and  at  the  back  door  of  the  magnificent 
Hotel  Green. 

From  Raymond  Hill  is  one  of  the  widest  and  most 
beautiful  views  in  California.  Here  is  located  the  new 
and  immense  Hotel  Raymond,  one  of  the  largest  and 
finest  of  western  hostelries.  It  cost  |;3oo,ooo,  and  con- 
tains nearly  three  hundred  sleeping  rooms.  The  furnish- 
ings throughout  are  most  liberal,  and  various  up-to-date 
features  are  included  in  general  equipment.  The  build- 
ing is  very  pleasing  externally,  being  cream  and  olive- 
green  in  color,  and  architecturally  quite  impressive. 

I  write  of  Pasadena  with  the  new  wine  of  spring  in 
my  veins.  The  linnet  leaps  into  the  air  and  sings  from 
tree  to  tree.  The  mocking  bird  pipes  its  full,  richly 
varied  strain.  The  orange  trees  are  decked  with  balls  of 
gold,  and  from  the  orchard  the  warm  breeze  bears  the 
scent  of  the  blossoms.  In  every  garden  is  a  wealth  of 
bloom.  Vines  of  white  lamarck  and  banksia  roses  climb 
over  houses  until  the  very  gables  nestle  in  bridal  bowers, 
and  the  gold  of  ophir  opens  its  petals  from  a  thousand 
buds  —  a  riot  of  color  that  is  a  wonder  and  a  joy. 

Pasadena,  the  crown  of  the  valley  !  A  town  on  the 
broad  slopes  that  sweep  up  to  the  rugged  sides  of  the 


39 


s;-      \*^f     -iSl      y         . 


!!.; 


Sierra  Madres,  commanding,  from  its  many  points  of 
vantage,  a  vast  panorama  of  valley  covered  with  green 
fields  of  grain,  with  the  dark,  dense  rows  of  orange 
trees  and  the  far-awa}'  reaches  of  purple  and  blue,  with 
homes  dotting  the  landscape,  and  clusters  of  eucalyptus 
trees ;  while  away  off  to  the  east,  down  the  valley,  Mount 
San  Jacinto,  with  crest  of  snow,  seems  floating  in  a  mist 
of  blue,  and  nearer  rise  in  succession  the  peaks  San 
Bernardino,  San  Gorgonio  and  San  Antonio,  all  topped 
with  snow  !  Among  its  streets  are  Marengo  avenue  with 
its  arch  of  graceful  pepper  trees.  Orange  Grove  and 
Grand  Avenues  lined  with  large  and  costly  residences  set 
in  tropical  gardens  or  surrounded  by  green  lawns,  and 
Colorado  street,  leading  from  the  business  center  of  the 
town  out  past  many  sightly  residences  to  the  country 
districts  of  Lamanda  Park,  Sierra  Madre  and  other  towns 
on  the  way  to  San  Bernardino.  Dropping  sharply  away 
from  the  ridge  upon  which  Orange  Grove  and  Grand 
Avenues  lie  is  the  beautiful  Arroyo  Seco,  a  rambling,  dry 
creek  bed  of  sand  and  gravel,  skirted  with  live  oaks  and 
sycamores  and  flanked  bj-  rolling  hills  beyond  which  lies 
the  valley  of  San  Fernando,  named  from  the  mission 
which  still  remains  as  a  silent  witness  of  the  days  of 
Spanish  rule. 

The  San  Gabriel  Valley  is  teeming  with  historic 
associations.  Hither,  in  1771,  came  Father  Junipero 
Serra,  with  a  small  band  of  devoted  followers,  to  found 
the  fourth  of  the  Franciscan  missions  in  Alta  California. 
He  discovered  a  large  Indian  population  in  this  lovely 
valley  who  were  at  first  hardlj^  disposed  to  be  friendly, 
but,  according  to  the  early  chronicler,  were  immediately 
pacified  when  a  large  picture  of  the  Virgin  was  unfolded 
to  their  view.  The  mission  bells  were  sus- 
pended  from  a  tree,  mass  was  said,  and  the  '-« 

little   band   soon   commenced  the   work   of 
constructing  a  mission.     The  original  adobe    <^^^ 


^^^^ 


structure  was  deserted  after  a  few  years  for  a  more  favor- 
able site  some  five  miles  awa}%  and  here  in  1775  a  second 
mission  was  erected,  to  be  replaced  ere  long  by  a  stone 
church  a  few  hundred  yards  farther  south,  which  stands 
today,  but  little  altered  by  the  lapse  of  time.  It  is  the 
oldest  of  the  California  missions  now  standing  in  a  good 
state  of  preservation.  It  is  situated  in  the  middle  of  the 
rambling  old  Mexican  town  of  the  same  name,  and  sur- 
rounded by  tokens  of  that  strange  life  which  is  now  so 
completel}'  a  thing  of  the  past.  Back  of  it  is  the  ceme- 
tery with  many  a  story  written  over  its  dilapidated 
graves,  and  in  front,  just  across  the  street,  is  the  ditch 
and  remnants  of  the  mill  in  which  the  Jndian  neophytes 
ground  the  flour.  This  old  mill  was  largely  built  by  a 
reformed  pirate,  the  story  of  whose  life  forms  one  of  the 
romances  of  this  romantic  region. 

In  1818,  a  privateer  from  Buenos  Ayres  was  j)lun(leriug 
the  coast  of  California  in  the  vicinity  of  Santa  Barbara. 
A  small  boat  containing  some  of  the  crew  was  capsized 
in  the  breakers  close  to  the  shore  when  a  party  of  mis- 
sion soldiers,  concealed  near  at  hand,  fired 
upon  the  men  struggling  in 
the   water.       Some    of   them 
were  shot,  some  managed  to 
swim   to    another    boat,    and 
two,   a  negro   and   a   Yankee 
named     Chapman,    swam 
A  •  V-  1      I   f^     ^^^  "' "~- — .  ashore.     They  were  captured 

by  the  Mexicans,  who  cast 
their  riatas  over  them  after  a  stout  resistance.  Despite 
the  proposal  of  some  of  the  number  to  hang  them  to  the 
nearest  tree,  their  lives  were  spared  through  the  friendly 
intervention  of  Don  Antonio  Lugo,  who  was  attracted  to 
Chapman  by  his  powerful  physique  and  bravery. 

Don  Antonio  lived  in  Los  Angeles,  and  on  his  return 
home  he  took  the  pirate  with  him,  the  two  riding  on  the 


-    — _  i-rTSuK-vyiJi^v^- 


sanie  horse.     Cliapiiian  was  set  to 
work  in  the  Sierra   Madre  Moun- 
tains with  a  part}'  of  Mexican  wood 
choppers,   who   were   getting    ou 
timber  for  the  church  in  Los  Ange 
les.     So    proficient   did   the   stout       ijiTKnr 
Yankee  prove  himself  at  this  work  " 

th;it  lie  soon  won  the  respect  and  admiration  of  the  padres 
and  dons.  Other  tasks  were  given  him  to  perform,  the 
most  conspicuous  being  the  construction  of  the  mill 
directly  south  of  the  mission.  His  neighbors  began  to 
talk  of  finding  a  wife  for  him,  and  so  thoroughly  had  he 
earned  their  friendship  that  the}'  considered  the  daugh- 
ter of  one  of  the  wealthy  ranchers  near  Santa  Barbara  a 
worth}'  match.  He  was  accordingly  escorted  to  the  home 
of  the  fair  setiorita,  having  been  baptized  into  the  church 
on  his  way,  and  ere  long  the  dark-eyed  maiden  had 
consented  to  his  proposals  and  was  made  his  bride.  For 
many  years  they  lived  at  San  Gabriel,  surrounded  by  a 
happy  family.  And  thus  it  appears  that  the  first  New 
England  settler  in  California  came  here  as  a  pirate  ! 

The  mill  which  Chapman  built  is  not  the  oldest  one 
in  the  valley,  however.  A  mile  or  so  north  of  the  Mis- 
sion San  Gabriel  still  stands  in  an  excellent  state  of 
preservation  —  the  oldest  flour  mill,  not  only  of  the  val- 
le}-,  but  of  the  State.  It  was  built  by  the  padres  and  their 
Indian  converts  about  the  year  1812,  but  through  faulty 
construction  and  on  account  of  its  distance  from  the 
mission  was  abandoned  as  a  mill  after  a  year  or  two,  and 
used  as  a  wine  cellar.  Just  below  it  is  Wilson's  Lake,  a 
beautiful  glassy  pond  which  was  used  as  a  reservoir  in 
the  early  mission  days. 

Of  the  Pasadena  of  today 
it  is  difficult  to  write,  for 
there  is  so  much  to  arouse 
the  enthusiasm  that  one  is  in 


fe... 


x/-v2:.-5H^;^; 


>2Ia^ 


danger  of  conveying  a 

false    impression.      It 

is  not  all  sunshine  and 

—  _^_^';Fc'~sc7^.*c-!i_      flowers.       There    are 

days  that  are  cold,  for 
Pasadena,  and  daj's  that  are  windy  and  disagreeable.  In 
winter  there  are  some  rainj-  weeks  and  in  summer  an 
endless  amount  of  dust.  To  one  who  comes  here  expect- 
ing to  find  the  Garden  of  Eden  just  as  the  Lord  origi- 
nally planted  it,  the  first  impression  may  be  just  a  trifle 
disenchanting.  The  ground  under  the  orchards  and  in 
the  vineyards  is  bare.  If  one  sees  a  California  vineyard 
in  the  winter  season  for  the  first  time  he  is  apt  to 
exclaim  in  surprise,  for  the  vines  are  all  trimmed  away 


t-^W'fi 


jc 


to  an  insignificant  stump,  and  all  that  he  will  see  is  a 
vast  field  of  bare  soil  with  rows  of  these  uninteresting 
little  knots  of  wood  close  to  the  ground.  In  summer 
this  becomes  a  tangle  of  green  vines,  and  in  autumn  the 
grapes  hang  in  clusters  so  large  and  abundant  that  if 
I  am  to  retain  my  reputation  for  veracitj'  I  had  better 
leave  them  undescribed. 

But  when  the  worst  has  been  said  of  Pasadena  it 
remains  one  of  the  most  charming  of  towns.  Its  climate 
has  been  heralded  the  world  over.    Its  people  are  refined 


and  cultured.  It  has  good  schools,  a  fine  public  library, 
many  churches,  large  and  costly  residences,  and  avenues 
and  streets  which  are  decorated  with  an  endless  succes- 
sion of  palms  and  pepper  trees.  So  many  men  of  means 
have  been  attracted  here  from  the  East  that  it  is  said 
that  more  wealth  is  represented  among  its  citizens  than 
in  any  other  city  of  its  size  in  America.  Thousands  of 
health  and  pleasure  seekers  come  here  to  spend  their 
winters,  and  from  autumn  to  spring  the  streets  present  a 


fHk    iM 


festive  appearance,  with  the 

many     fine     carriages,     the 

tallyho    coaches,    and     gay 

parties  of  tourists  on  every 

hand.      The    commodious 

Hotel  Green,  one  of  the  fine  C^^ 

hotels  of  the  Pacific  Coast, 

has  been  so  overtaxed  during 

the  winter  months  that  an  addition  much  larger  than 

the  original  is  now  in  course  of  erection,  connected  with 

the  present  building  by  a  picturesque  bridge  across  the 

street.     Another  favorite  Pasadena  hotel,  the  Piutoresca, 

situated  upon  the  high  ground  in  the  direction  of  Alta- 

dena,  is  taxed  to  the  uttermost  during  the  winter  months 

by  the  host  of  tourists  who  assemble  here  from  all  over 

the  land. 

Pasadena  is  especially  notable  for  its  beautiful  resi- 
dences set  in  the  midst  of  gardens  which  are  often  exten- 
sive enough  to  give  the  effect  of  parks.  Houses  in  the 
mission  style  stand  out  as  a  feature  of  the  local  archi- 
tecture, although  many  of  the  shingled  residences  are 
graceful  in  line  and  broad  and  simple  in  treatment.  It 
is  a  place  where  money  has  been  freely  spent  in  beauti- 
fying the  homes  and  streets,  with  the  result  that  Pasa- 
dena has  grown  within  the  last  few  j'cars  into  one  of  the 
most  attractive  residence  cities  of  the  West.  Its  schools 
are  admirably  conducted,  and  Throop  Institute,  a  school 


and  college  in  which  manual  training  receives  a  large 
share  of  attention,  has  made  for  itself  a  distinctive  place 
in  educational  work.  There  is  a  Shakespeare  Club  with 
a  home  of  its  own,  an  Oratorio  Society,  an  Academy  of 
Sciences  and  many  other  organizations  betokening  the 
interest  of  the  people  in  the  higher  pursuits  of  life. 

But  for  me  the  greatest  attraction  of  Pasadena  is  its 
location  as  the  key  to  the  lovely  region  which  environs 
it.  There  are  endless  drives  off  over  the  valley,  each 
more  beautiful  than  the  last,  with  points  of  historic 
interest  to  investigate,  and  with  the  charm  of  nature 
where  mountains  encircle  the  valley,  beautified  by  the 
cultivation  of  fields  of  grain  , 

and  groves  of  orange,  lemon  ' ^^^ 

and    deciduous    fruit    trees       ^^-^  --^  "i>^   <^  ^  i '     ~^-^,^      ,     -__^  _—- -__ 
The  magic   touch   of  water       V  j  >^'"  fe  ^if-'^^?^ 

has  transformed  a  desert  into  ^       "*        «5r^        l_    AT^i^ils -j-iMT   , 

a  teeming  garden. 

In  driving  along  the  edge 
of  the  valley  toward  the  east 
we  look  up  along  the  fertile 
patches  that  nestle  close  to 
the  steep  slopes  of  the  Sierra 
Mad  re    Range.       Turning 

at  Lamanda  Park  directly  toward  the  mountains  we 
ascend  along  an  avenue  of  lofty  eucalyptus  and  weaving 
pepper  trees  into  an  orange  grove  which  is  of  less  recent 
planting  than  most  of  its  neighbors,  and  finally  emerge 
at  the  Sierra  Madre  Villa  Hotel,  the  oldest  resort  in 
Southern  California.  From  the  veranda  of  the  hotel,  we 
may  look  upon  the  tropical  garden  about  us,  over  the 
orange  orchard,  across  a  glorious  panorama  of  valley, 
and  beyond  the  intervening  hills,  to  the  ocean  and  Santa 
Catalina  Island,  with  its  two  conical  peaks  making  an 
unmistakable  landmark  sixty  miles  away.  The  moun- 
tains form  an  imposing  background  cut  up  by  canj-ons 


4fe 


aud  rugged  steeps,  with  solitary  pine  trees  clinging  here 
and  there  upon  the  rocky  slopes. 

Another  favorite  drive  from  Pasadena  is  to  Baldwin's 
ranch,  which  can  also  be  reached  by  the  Santa  Fe  train, 
being  the  next  station  beyond  Lamanda  Park.  It  is  cus- 
tomary in  California  to  call  any  tract  of  land  which  is 
used  as  a  farm,  a  ranch,  but  this  term  was  originally 
applied  to  Mexican  ranches  of  early  days,  which  were 
Spanish  grants  comprising  thousands  of  acres.  If  size 
be  any  criterion,  the  term  is  certainly  appropriate  when 
used  in  connection  with  the  farm  owned  by 
/jWis^%6     I  E.  J.  Baldwin,  which  covers  fifty-six  thou- 

^lw^f\^'''-'^'         s^^d  acres  of  land,   nearly  all  of  which  is 
;s '^',^'  • '  ,^  ^ /;    under  cultivation.     The  home  ranch  alone, 
^^0^_m\      ,.        upon  which  Baldwin's  residence  is 
V^'if^(-^^'|^,^,^:'    ^<7:  located,   comprises   fifteen   hundred 

''''^^/^^^^^i'  ^'      acres.      Here   are   orange   orchards, 
t:^     -,  -,i\  -*-S  \ineyards,     an     extensive     winery, 

fields    of   grain,   and  some  of   the 
finest  racing  horses  in  the  world. 
But  what  appealed  most  strongly  to 
■me  were  the  miles  of  live  oak  trees 
^forming    a    vast   natural    park 


v^w/f^ii-*!^'  with  the  mountains  for  a  back- 
B^lJv/inb  "Ri^noh  (^  V  '^'^^  ground,   with   lovely  vistas  of 

valley,  and  carpeted  with  the  tender  green  of 
the  spring  grain. 

In  the  vicinity  of  the  Baldwin  residence  are  ponds 
and  tropic  gardens,  with  groves  of  cypress,  eucalyptus 
and  palm  trees,  under  and  around  which  grows  in  true 
California  wantonness  a  profusion  of  flowers.  Upon  this 
ranch  are  many  avenues  of  eucalj-ptus  trees,  tall,  grace- 
ful aud  dark,  forming  stately  colonnades  between  which 
the  brilliant  sunshine  streams  across  the  road. 

Other  drives  there  are  out  of  Pasadena  —  to  Garvanza, 
where  the  beautiful  memorial  Church  of  the  Angels  is 

48 


located,  to  Shorb's  exten- 
sive winer)-,  to  Devil's  Gate, 
the  head  of  the  water  siipi)ly 
of  Pasadena  iu  the  Arroyo 
Seco,  to  La  Canada  and  San 
Fernando.  There  are  also 
points  of  interest  and  beauty 
to  be  reached  bj^  the  electric 
cars  —  Altadena  and  the  mountains  beyond  in  one  direc- 
tion and  the  South  Pasadena  Ostrich  Farm  in  the  other. 
There  are  several  ostrich  farms  in  Southern  California, 
at  Norwalk,  Pasadena  and  Coronado,  but  a  description  of 
one  will  suffice  for  all. 

The  ostrich  is  one  of  the  most  ungainly,   unlovely 
creatures  that  walk  the  . 

earth.  It  is  a  relic  of  >•»  "^ 
an  earlier  geological 
epoch  handed  down  to 
us  in  all  its  paleolithic 
ugliness.  Its  great  bare 
legs  support  a  massive 
body  to  one  end  of 
which  is  attached  a 
long,stiff  neck  ending  in  ''- 

a  little  crook  in  lieu  of  a  head, 
is  flattened  on  top,  and  two  great  brown  eyes  bulge  out, 
ever  looking  about  for  something  to  eat  —  grass,  oranges, 
sand  or  newspaper  —  it  makes  little  difference.  When 
its  great,  fiat,  clumsy  beak  is  opened,  there  seems  to  be 
nothing  left  of  the  head  but  a  cavity,  and  its  note  is  a 
sudden  open-mouthed  explosion,  half  sputter  and  half 
hiss.     It  also  on  occasion  roars  more  vociferously  than  a 


This  apology  for  a  head 


,3- 


(^  TiKU.^,.,  T\".ii 


lion.  Visitors  sometimes  ask  the  boy  who  shows  them 
about  if  he  cannot  make  one  of  the  birds  roar,  when  he 
invariably  inquires  in  his  shrill  voice  whether  his  inter- 
locutor ever  tried  to  make  a  rooster  crow. 
This  same  boy  frequently  amuses  visitors 
by  going  into  the  pens  with  the  big  male 
birds  and  teasing  them  until  they  kick  at 
him,  riding  on  their  backs,  and  showing 
off  his  pets  in  various  ways. 

The  body   of  the  male  bird  is  glossy 
black  with  plumes  of  white  in  the  wings 
and  tail,  and  the  wonder  is  that  anything 
so  lovely  can  spring  from  so  ugly  a  soil. 
The   females   and   young   are   brown   and 
gray,  the  latter  more  or  less  mottled  ;  but 
even    at    the    most  callow   age   they 
have   a   mouth   like    a   crocodile  —  it 
hardly  seems  like  a  beak,  so  flattened, 
broad  and   dull   it   is.     Stand   beside 
the  fence  with  an    orange  in    your 
hand  and  one  of  these  great  birds  will 
come   stepping    up   to   you   with    as 
elegant  and   dainty  an  air  as  a  fine 
lady  in  satin  about  to  be  presented  at 
a    court    ball.      There   is    something 
extremely  comical  about  the  airs 
of  the  creature.     Pass  over  your 
orange  and  you  may  see  it  work 
its  way  down  on  the  side  of  the 
neck,    or    if    there    are     enough 
oranges  to  spare  you  may 
;  .;^-  see  a  dozen   all  slipping 

down  at  once.  Do  not 
fail  to  stand  at  a  respect- 
ful distance,  however,  for 
that  great  toe  is  wielded 


#W^' 


by  a  powerful  leg,  and  is  capable  of  inflicting  dangeroua 
wounds. 

This  novel  industry  of  ostrich  farming  has  proved  a 
great  success  in  Southern  California,  for  the  birds  thrive 
and  multiply  in  this  genial  climate,  and  besides  the  sale 
of  the  feathers,  large  numbers  of  sight-seers  daily  visit 
the  farms  and  contribute  to  their  support. 


>^ 


I  >/.%>^' 


IK,  ^i    ''  A      //    /,         ."S       „  Jf f    w     '       ,         l)!^       ,^  I** 

ll       *1.        0"^  1,/^!^      ^\       i^      ;-,>  -'■         ' 


Pill'    ^^^^^ 
f I/;  fill?  *iU^i 


^  VX 


Vi 


mm>^'y:h'^) 


W  |H<|.  «i  ^^ 


H-^C^^^ 


\   'ill  W^JfJ^^^-^"  ^ 


appear. 


THE  SIKRRA   MADRE 
MOUNTAINS. 

F  all  excursions  out  of  Pasadeua,  that 
to  the  mountains  is  most  wonderful 
and  enchanting.  To  the  inexperienced 
observer  the  Sierra  Madre  Mountains 
may  seem  like  great  hills  rolled  up 
from  the  valley,  which  could  be 
ascended  at  any  point  the  climber 
might  choose  to  select.  But  in  this 
instance,  familiarity,  instead  of  breed- 
ing contempt,  breeds  respect.  The 
nearer  we  approach  the  mountains 
the  wilder  and  more  rugged  they 
Shadows  that  from  a  distance  seem 
^  to  mark  little  pockets  and  creases  in  their  sides, 
open  out  into  deep  canyons,  with  precipitous  sides  and 
dizzy  heights.  A  dense  growth  of  chaparral  clothes 
the  slopes,  making  travel  excessively  difficult,  and  great 
walls  of  rock  defy  the  nerves  and  skill  of  the  boldest 
climber. 

The  project  of  building  an  electric  and  cable  road 
directly  up  the  face  of  this  great  range  into  the  heart  ot 
the  pine  forests  that  clothe  its  summits  was  broached 
some  years  since,  but  there  seemed  little  hope  of 
accomplishing  so  difficult  an  undertaking.  Finally 
Prof.  T.  S.  C.  Lowe  proposed  the  great  ca^^^le  incline, 
and  by  means  of  his  determination  and  enthusiasm 
pushed  the  project  to  its  completion.  Toda\  it  un- 
doubtedly stands  among  the  great  engineering  feats  of 
the  world,  with  many  novel  and  daring  inno-  ^  //iXi'" 

vations.  1    a  \  ,>!  ^    ^'A 


53 


l'$K 


AtU 


Think  of  it  !  in  less  than  an  hour's  ride  it  is  possible 
to  ascend  from  the  or«inge  groves  and  flower  gardens  ot 
Pasadena  into  the  heart  of  the  pine  forests  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  five  thousand  feet,  where  snow  covers  the  ground 
at  times  to  the  depth  of  many  feet.  The  suddenness  of 
it,  the  thrilling  grandeur  of  the  ride,  the  rapid  changes 
of  scenery  and  the  boundless  region  over  which  the  eye 
can  sweep  make  the  excursion  an  event  in  a  lifetime. 

The  ride  from  Pasadena  to  Altadena  on  the  electric 
cars  is  very  beautiful,  but  we  are  already  familiar  with 
the  beauty  of  peach  trees  in  bloom  and  orange  orchards 
studded  with  the  golden  fruit,  with  the  lovely  San  Ga- 
briel Valley  leading  away  into  the  blue  haze  of  the  Pueute 
Hills  or,  farther  still,  off  toward  Mount  San  Jacinto.  At 
Altadena  we  change  cars  and  ride  over  an  uncultivated 
country  close  to  the  base  of  the  mountains.  The  cars 
pass  vast  fields  of  California  poppies,  washes  of  sand  and 
stones  and  wastes  of  chapparal,  with  a  constantly 
expanding  view  below  and  the  mountains  towering 
above.  Rubio  Pavilion  is  reached  where  the  great 
incline  cable  road  commences.  Many  timid  eyes  look 
up  into  the  air  with  a  questioning  glance.  What,  we're 
not  going  up  there  ?     But  the  car  stands  in  waiting,  the 

p. .. timid  are  assured  that  they  are  as 

safe  as  when  seated  in  an  easy 
chair  bj'  their  parlor  fire,  and  away 
we  go,  slowly  and  impressively  — 
sixty-two  feet  up  in  the  air  for 
every  one  hundred  feet  forward. 
Rubio  Canyon,  a  great  gorge  in  the 
mountains,  plunges  off  at  one  side, 
while  miles  and  miles  of  valley  ex- 
pand beneath  as  the  car  ascends. 

At  Echo  Mountain  we  catch  our 
breath  and  look  off  spellbound. 
Is  this  reall}'  the  face  of  the  earth 


upon  which  we  walked  with  firui  foot  so  recently  ? 
Directly  below  is  the  broad  plain  of  the  San  Gabriel  Val- 
ley, with  great  squares  of  green  fields  and  orange  groves 
and  little  specks  of  houses.  There  lies  Pasadena  among 
its  trees,  and  beyond  the  Mission  Hills,  Los  Angeles. 
We  look  upon  the  water  of  reservoirs,  upon  Eastlake 
and  Westlake  parks  in  the  suburbs  of  L,os  Angeles,  and 
beyond  all   this  upon  the  misty  ocean  with  an  archi- 


pelago of  islands  marking  the  horizon  line.  It  is  all  on 
such  an  overpowering  scale  that  we  seem  half  in  a 
dream  —  the  whole  wide  earth  seems  lying  at  our  feet. 

Again  we  change  cars,  this  time  for  an  electric  road 
which  winds  back  and  forth  up  the  face  of  the  mountain, 
around  the  edge  of  precipices,  with  canyons  below  and 
around,  and  with  incomparable  vistas  through  forests  of 
oak  and  pine  of  the  far-away  regions  of  the  plain.  We 
look  down  upon  the  tops  of  mountain  ranges  and  into 
great  valleys  —  La  Caiiada  and  San 
Fernando  lie  beneath.  We  pass 
through  granite  cuts,  over  circular 
bridges,  winding  and  climbing  as  I  i 
believe  no  mountain  road  ever  wound 
and  climbed  before,  and  finally  come  i 
upon  a  lovely  sylvan  nook  amid  the 
pine  trees  where  a  rural  inn  is  set  in 
the  midst  of  the  forest. 

The   Alpine   Tavern  is   in   perfect 


|iW^'« 


t«'r 


^k;  ^' 


^'^'^^^'Qf 


'^J^^m 


•^\ 


W:- 


^ 


M 


M     if 


1;    >, 


All   n.    ?...   , 


r 


-'v^^i 


keeping  with  its  name  aud 
surroundings.  It  is  simple 
and  unobtrusive,  following 
the  contour  of  the  mountain 
slope  and  gracefully  yield- 
ing precedence  to  the  pine 
trees.  It  is  built  of  pine 
with  open  timber  constiuction  and  with  a  foundation 
of  granite.  Enter  its  broad  doors  and  all  is  generous 
mountain  hospitality.  The  great  stone  fireplace  with 
its  crane  and  pot,  and  motto  above,  tables  covered 
with  books  and  magazines,  and  a  hearty  welcome  from 
the  genial  host,  all  tell  the  stranger  that  he  has  found  a 
resting  place  where  he  is  to  be  at  home.  But  who  could 
stay  indoors  in  such  a  spot?  All  about  lie  the  mountains 
to  be  explored,  with  trails  penetrating  the  secret  places 
and  here  and  there  vistas  leading  away  into  the  blue 
depths  of  the  plain  below.  Inspiration  Point  is  not  far 
away  and  can  be  reached  with  a  carriage.  The  pine 
woods  are  cool  and  delicious  even  in  midsummer,  and 
the  air  is  bracing  and  exhilarating.  Here  the  morose 
and  embittered  become  happy  and  break  into  song. 
Mother  nature  is  a  great  healer.  Everywhere  in  these 
mountain  fastnesses  we  are  in  a  strange  wonder  world  of 
beauty  and  delight.  From  the  summit  of  Mount  Lowe 
the  landscape  which  lies  spread  out  beneath  is  said  to 
cover  a  range  of  a  hundred  miles  in  every  direction 
where  the  mountains  do  not  intercept  the  view.  And 
all  this  with  the  tumult  of  a  big  city  but  an  hour  and  a 
half  away  !     The  graceful  tree  squirrels  scamper  about 

the  pine  trunks,  fearless  and 
light-hearted.  The  wood- 
pecker calls  gaily  from  the 
heights  and  we  catch  the 
inspiration  of  joy  and  ex- 
hilaration on  every  side. 


Then  to  return  to  I?cho 
Mountain  !  to  watch  the 
sun  go  down  and  the  blue 
shadows  creep  across  the 
wilderness  of  plain  !  to 
see  the  great  world  swoon 
softly  into  darkness,  and 
_  -^5%,    finally   to   see    the    stars 

_  ^■uXV;;iL'*^^s?^   come  out  above,  matched 
'•  on    the    plain    by    the 

twinkling  electric  lights  of  two  cities  ! 

It  is  a  strange  experience  to  be  so  suddenly  lifted 
from  the  plain  to  the  mountain  heights  in  an  hour's  ride, 
but  the  sensations  are  of  quite  a  different  nature  when 
these  same  rugged  mother  mountains  are  climbed  on 
muleback  or  on  foot.  It  is  a  feeling  of  power  and  pos- 
session which  dominates  the  mind  of  the  traveler.  The 
remote  places  are  to  be  won  by  toil,  and  every  foot  of  the 
way  is  scanned  in  the  ascent.  We  glory  in  the  freedom 
of  it,  our  hearts  expand  with  the  view,  our  horizon 
widens  as  we  lift  our  heads  into  the  region  of  cloud  and 
sky.  The  illimitable  reaches  of  the  plain  become  famil- 
iar to  us,  as  we  look  not  across  them,  but  down  upon 
them,  in  an  endless  level  of 
blue.  Mountain  ranges  are 
creased  up  here  and  there,  but 
they  seem  hardly  more  than 
mole  hills  wrinkling  the  sur- 
face of  the  plain.  Here  is  the 
workshop  of  the  Almiglit}', 
where  the  granite  cliffs  are 
split  and  tossed  down  into  the 
plain,  where  cloud  and  peak 
meet  in  familiar  intercourst , 
and  where  the  giant  pines  clasji 
the    rocks   with    their    might>  . 


57 


roots  to  hold  them  for  a  brief  span  from  the  disintegrat- 
ing powers  of  time. 

The  new  trail  to  Wilson's  Peak  is  broad  and  firm, 
rising  by  slow  and  uniform  grade  out  of  Eaton's  Canj'on 
across  the  face  of  the  mountain,  back  and  forth  through 
the  chaparral,  in  and  out  among  the  .scrub  oak  of  the 
exposed  mountain  side,  where  the  fragrant  mountain 
lilac  blooms  and  the  wren  tit  trills  in  the  thicket,  where 


the  sun  beats  down  with  unobstructed  force,  and  the 
view  widens  beneath  by  slow  degrees. 

The  mules  of  the  Mount  Wilson  trail  are  patient, 
long-suffering  beasts,  who  pay  less  attention  to  an  ener- 
getic prodding  than  to  the  bite  of  a  fly.  They  are  quick 
to  interpret  any  exclamation  such  as  "oh,"  or  "ho 
there,"  into  a  "  whoa,"  and  sometimes  come  to  a  stand- 
still without  even  this  lame  pretext;  but,  withal,  they 
climb  the  mountains  sure-footedly  and  ploddingly,  and 
one  has  only  to  keep  at  them  with  determination  and  a 
stout  stick  to  get  along. 

It  is  refreshing  and  delightful  to  turn  off  from  the 
exposed  mountain  side  and  dip  into  the  cool  shadow  of 


58 


We  stand  upon 


oak  and  fir.  The  mile  boards  seem  a 
long  distance  apart  on  this  trail,  but 
it  is  good  to  linger  by  the  way  and 
catch  the  fragrance  of  the  pine  and  , 
the  song  of  the  mountain  chickadee. 
It  is  good  to  see  the  tempered  lights 
of  the  woodland  —  nature's  vast  cathe- 
dral—  with  the  golden  rays  stream- 
ing through  the  tracer}-  of  the  pine 
boughs.  The  lithe  gray  squirrel  is 
here,  and  at  our  feet  grows  the 
hounds'-tongue  and  the  baby  blue- 
eyes. 

In  the  higher  reaches  of  the  trail 
^the  scenery  is  bolder  and  more  rugged, 
granite  crags  that  command  a  world-wide  view.  The 
plain  stretches  off  to  the  coast  line,  the  ocean  leads  off 
to  the  islands,  while  near  at  hand  the  mountains  shoot 
aloft  into  bold  headlands,  and  tumble  away  into  ca>uyons 
below.  It  is  suggestive  of  the  pictures  we  have  seen  of 
the  passes  of  the  Andes,  where  the  road  is  cut  along  the 
face  of  a  rock  wall  winding  up  into  the  dizzy  heights. 

Wilson's  Camp,  formerly  called  Martin's  Camp,  is 
located  on  the  backbone  of  a  ridge  a  mile  from  the 
summit  of  Mount  Wilson.  The  veranda  of  the  house 
commands  a  panorama  of  both  ends  of  the  San  Gabriel 
Valley,  with  Pasadena,  Los  Angeles,  and  Santa  Monica 
on  the  southwestern  side,  and  Monrovia,  Azusa,  and 
Pomona  to  the  southeast.  To  the  southward  the  ridge 
ascends  to  a  point  of  rock  called  Mount  Harvard,  where 
the  entire  San  Gabriel  Valley  is  visible  in  one  superb 
sweep.  One  cannot  but  regret  the  prosaic  architecture 
of  the  camp,  but  the  glories  of  the  view  dominate  the 
mind.  Mount  Lowe,  Markham's  Peak  and  Mount  San 
Gabriel  rise  in  succession  to  the  northwest  of  us,  and 
farther  away  to  the  east  lie  the  giaflts  of  the  range  — 


59 


already  familiar  landmarks  —  San  Jacinto,  San  Gorgonio, 
San  Bernardino  and  San  Antonio. 

The  high  mountains  seem  like  holy  ground.  The 
bigness  of  everything,  the  silence,  the  solemnity  of 
the  pines,  the  blue  shadows  of  the  mountains  on  the 
plain,  the  play  of  lights  —  it  is  all  impressive,  awe-insjiir- 
ing,  terrible.  Standing  upon  Echo  Rock  with  a  wall  of 
granite  plunging  down  upon  three  sides  into  the  depths 
of  the  Santa  Anita  Canyon,  the  immensity  and  sublimity 
of  the  scene  is  overpowering.  Far  down  in  the  chasm 
are  great  pine  trees,  dwarfed  and  dim  in  the  distance  ; 
rolling  hills  are  creased  up  on  the  opposite  side,  that 
swell  and  mount  and  tower  as  they  recede  into  great 
mountain  ranges,  and  to  the  south  the  canyon  opens  out 
into  the  San  Gabriel  Valley,  over  fifty  miles  of  which, 
the  eye  can  range  with  a  single  imperceptible  tremor 
of  the  muscles.  The  air  was  so  still  that  I  longed  for 
some  sound  to  relieve  the  tension  of  sight.  A  butterflj' 
fluttered  past  on  noiseless  wings.  Then  came  a  little 
low  wail  of  the  wind  in  the  pine  trees  overhead,  and  a 
robin  sounded  a  loud  cheery  note.  I  turned  from  the 
scene  and  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  woods. 

The  old  Wilson  trail  is  not  as  broad  and  comfortable 
as  the  new,  but  it  is  wide  enough  for  the  sure-footed 
little  burros  which  are  used  upon  it  and  its  irregularity 
enhances  its  picturesqueness.  It  winds  down  the  moun- 
tain upon  a  steep  grade  into  the  Santa  Anita  Canyon,  and 
follows  the  course  of  a  cold,  sparkling  mountain  stream, 
through  the  cooling  shade  of  pines  and  great  live  oaks. 
It  savors  more  of  the  mountains  than  a  graded  road, 
and  leads  the  traveler  into  lovely  nooks  where  ferns 
and  mosses  cling  to  the  banks  and  where  the  silver  voice 
of  the  brook  is  matched  by  the  sweet  trill  of  the  chip- 
ping sparrow.  The  fragrant  bay  leaves  lean  out  over  the 
trail  and  brush  against  the  face  of  the  waj'farer.  Great 
oaks  spread  their  graceful  arms  above  the  path,  while 


60 


here  and  there  grow  S3'camorcs  and  alders  leafing  out  in 
the  bewitching  tenderness  of  spring  green.  The  silver 
thread  of  the  brook  slips  over  the  rocks  in  waterfalls 
and  lingers  in  crystal  basins  by  the  way.  At  last  it 
mj-steriously  vanishes  nnderground  and  a  drj'  creek  bed 
is  all  that  remains.  The  trail  emerges  down  a  long, 
open  and  precipitous  way  on  the  side  of  the  canyon,  and 
terminates  in  a  little  grove  of  eucal3'ptus  trees  at  Sierra 
Madre.  Again  the  valley,  and  the  mountains  but  a 
mj-sterious  dream  ! 


.    'iW:Sy^'^<^-^  XJ%3-v- ^^^r.,-=i, -^iS^-i^ 


6i 


?lSliif.^i  ' 


SANTA  CATALINA   ISI.AND. 

THE  mountains  and  the  sea  are  the  two  great  reve- 
lations of  the  power  and  majesty  of  nature  — 
the  mountains  passive  and  serene  in  their 
incomparable  reach  toward  heaven,  and  the  sea,  tumul- 
tuous and  passionate  in  its  moods,  elemental  in  its  bois- 
terous supremacy.  With  the  soughing  of  the  pine  trees 
and  the  illimitable  panorama  of  the  plain  fresh  in  mind, 
it  is  a  wonder  to  step  upon  the  little  boat  that  steams 
bravely  out  of  San  Pedro  Harbor  for  the  island  of  Santa 
Catalina,  and  feel  the  broad,  strong,  even  swell  of  the 
Pacific  —  to  hear  the  cry  of  the  gull  and  catch  the  salt 
sea  smell.  Small  boats  of  every  description  lie  at  anchor 
in  the  little  land-locked  harbor,  or  dance  merrily  over 
the  waters.  Outside  is  a  large  schooner  with  a  decklbad 
of  lumber  awaiting  a  tug  to  tow  it  into  port.  A  coast- 
ing steamer  is  Ij'ing  at  the  wharf  discharging  its  cargo. 
The  water  is  blue  and  peaceful,  and  everj-one  is  happy 
and  confident  of  a  quiet  run  out  to  the  island,  which  is 
diml}-  seen  through  the  haze,  twenty-six  miles  off  the 
coast. 

Our  little  steamer  rolls  about  somewhat  as  we  pass 
out  from  the  shelter  of  the  harbor,  but  an  obliging  fel- 
low-passenger explains  to  the  ladies  that  it  will  be  calm 


:f#i«'-<;^ 


again  as  soon  as  we  are  well  outside.  It  is  quite  amus- 
ing to  all  but  one  or  two  who  are  beginning  to  succumb 
to  the  swelling  sea.  The  steamer  plows  ahead  with  the 
regular  throbbing  of  her  en- 
gines, unmindful  of  the  emo- 
tions of  her  passengers,  and 
soon  stands  well  out  in  the 
open  channel.  For  some  rea- 
son the  rolling  does  not  cease, 
and  one  by  one  the  passengers 
become  subdued,  the  ladies 
seeking  their  pillows  and  the 
men  lounging  about  in  an  effort 
to  appear  composed  and  not  look  pale.  The  steamer 
rolls  in  the  trough  of  a  very  ordinary  fair  weather  sea, 
but  to  the  landsman  it  seems  as  if  she  were  having  a 
trying  time  of  it.  He  may  even  wonder  whj'  the  officers 
and  men  stand  about  with  such  an  indifferent  air  when 
they  ought  to  begin  to  seem  a  trifle  anxious.  Now 
and  then  a  wave  slaps  up  against  the  ship's  side  and 
throws  a  shower  of  salt  water  on  the  lower  deck,  wet- 
ting the  unwary  passengers  who  are  sitting  too  close  to 
the  windward  rail.  One  by  one  the  unfortunates  suc- 
cumb, leaving  only  the  few  unsusceptible  ones  to  walk 
about  the  deck  and  look  as  if  they  enjoyed  the  voyage. 
The  Captain  will  no  doubt  tell  you  that  this  is  the  rough- 
est passage  in  months,  but,  after  all,  he  doesn't  more 
than  half  mean  it.  It  is  only  a  little  playful  romp  of  the 
mighty  sea,  the  joyful  assertion  of  freedom  accompanied 
by  blue  sky  and  white,  glistening  waves. 

In  an  lioiir  or  two  the  steamer  is  well  in  the  lea  of  the 
island,    the    rolling    is    less 
marked,  and  the  passengers 
%,^*^'-'v^^^.  cheer   up.      They   begin    to 

-^  ■   ""v ,  look  about  for  the  spout  of 

_    3;^      the   California    gray   whale, 


exclaim  over  the  splash  of  a  porpoise,  and  are  finally 
restored  to  their  normal  equilibrium  by  the  appearance 
of  a  school  of  flyingfish,  skimming  over  the  water  with 
the  lightness  of  a  bird.  Avalon,  in  its  little  half-moon 
bay,  is  now  plainly  visible,  and  the  1)old  headlands  fall 
off  abruptly  ipto  the  sea. 

The  little  town  of  Avalon,  nestled  in  its  sheltered 
cove,  with  the  mountains  rising  back  of  it  on  all  sides 
and  the  sea  sleeping  at  its  feet,  is  the  only  settlement  on 
the  island.  Along  its  main  street  are  stores  where  curi- 
osities, chiefly  relating  to  Western  life,  are  exposed  for 
sale- — shells  and  shell  ornaments,  Indian  baskets,  Mexi- 
can hats  and  photographs.  The  Hotel  Metropole,  where 
excellent  accommodations  may  be  had,  stands  out  as  the 
most  conspicuous  structure  in  the  town,  while  all  about 
are  boarding  houses,  and,  during     •-,  ..     -»;.. 

the  summer   season,    a   village   of. -^c->v^^ii^i.^-_ 

tents  where  thousands  of  city  peo-,-^^  ■n"'^^''  "^i--,    "-■-.'  "- 

pie  live  for  a  happy  month  or  two.'  ^t^V'l^W.    .v  v^v^        -  .'''  '^-\ 

For  those  who  are  fond  of  sport    ,^^^^^^-  ;-  j  '^<C^%^  ':%  '^'^y^^ 
the  fishing  is  the  great  attraction,  '^:-iiP2*'|2?^ '  - "".    \  ^  /  ^,^  \\  a     L.t. . 
and  such  fishine  as  it  is  !      Here  .i^^^i^'->^J,v-i^-B=ii-3i^Sr^^~g^»-^iLj^ 


and  such  fishing  as  it  is  !      Here  •f'~^fev!;Sss'iiJ<^;^i- 
may    be    caught    finny    monsters      -^^^^te-Z^fi^ 
that     weigh     from     one     to     five     ''^^^5^^^*^^"^^!!^—^ 
hundred  pounds.     The   black   sea        ^^^^^   "  -^         "" 
bass,  or  jewfish  as  it  is  popularly  '^- .  - 

termed,  is  the  largest  of  its  tribe  which  is  captured 
here  with  hook  and  line.  It  is  exciting  sport  to  be 
towed  by  one  of  these  great  creatures,  and  after  a  long 
fight  to  land  it;  but,  after  all,  the  pride  of  conquest  is 
the  only  reward,  for  the  fish  is  not  fit  to  eat  when 
caught.  There  are,  however,  plenty  of  edible  fish  to  be 
taken  both  with  a  hand  line  and  rod  and  reel,  which 
afford  the  fisherman  all  the  sport  he  can  ask  for,  and  fre- 
quently more.  Yellowtails,  barracuda,  rock  bass  and  albi- 
core  are  caught  by  the  boatload  during  the  fishing  season. 


65 


G]* 


How  often,  in  looking  over  the  blue  waters  of  the 
ocean,  we  wonder  at  the  mysterious  life  of  its  depths, 
and  imagine  the  strange  creatures  which  dwell  there. 
Poets  have  described  their  fancies  of  it,  scientists  have 
written  down  in  their  exact  language  its  characteristics, 
but  what  a  revelation  to  see  it  for  one's  self!     The  glass- 
bottom  boats  are  unique  in  California,  I  believe,  although 
but  au  adaptation  of  the  marine  observation  glass  which 
has  long  been  in  use.     From  these  boats  it  is  possible  to 
look  down  into  the  water  to  the  depth  of  from  fifty  to 
one  hundred  feet  and  observe 
the  life  as  clearly   as  we  look 
about    us    on    land.       Rowing 
over  the    kelp    beds,   the    ob- 
server is  suddenly  transported 
into    a    wonder    world    which 
surpasses    his     most     fantastic 
tcllome.J  "tojCt"  dreams.     Great  trees  loom  up 

out  of  the  gloom  and  spread  their  broad  corrugated 
leaves  of  amber  in  the  bright  sunlight.  They  wave 
and  sway  with  the  gentle  motion  of  the  water,  and 
in  and  out  swim  the  fish,  now  darting  into  the  shadow 
of  the  kelp  and  again  flashing  in  the  sunlight.  Schools 
of  little  fish  glide  with  lithe  motions  back  and  forth. 
The  golden  perch  glistens  in  its  radiant  armor.  Now 
and  then  the  iridescence  of  a  little  rainbow  fish  shim- 
mers in  the  sun  raj-.  The  boat  floats  over  flower  beds  of 
red,  green  and  blue  seaweed,  and  over  rocks  which  are 
alive  with  the  strange  creatures  of  the  deep  —  spiny  sea 
urchins,  sprawling  starfish,  floating  jell3'fish,  and  those 
interesting  low  marine  creatures,  tunicates.  All  is  silent 
save  for  the  gentle  lapping  of  the  waves  on  the  boat's 
side,  but  we  are  looking  into  another  world  with  the 
same  curiosity  and  awe  that  the  inhabitants  of  Mars 
might  look  into  ours.  It  is  a  fascinating,  never-to-be- 
forgotten  scene. 


The  maiuluud,  too,  is  uot  without  its  charms.  Dur- 
ing my  visit  in  April  the  island  had  a  rather  barren 
appearance,  but  the  unprecedented  dryness  of  the  season 
was  accountable  for  the  parching  of  the  verdure  which 
should  have  clothed  the  hills  at  this  season  with  an 
emerald  robe.  Prickly  pear  grows  abundantly  on  the 
hill  .slopes  and  in  the  numerous  canyons  flourish  scrub 
oaks  and  sycamores.  In  some  of  the  more  remote  por- 
tions of  the  island's  twenty  miles  of  mountain  scenery 
are  streams,  and  trees  of  considerable  size.  Man}'  of  the 
plants  upon  Santa  Catalina  diflfer  to  a  greater  or  less 
degree  from  the  mainland  forms,  and  there  are  even 
slight  variations  to  be  detected  in  some  of  the  birds. 
Of  these  latter  a  goodly  company  is  represented,  for, 
besides  the  gulls,  cormorants  and  many  other  sea  birds 
on  the  coast,  there  are  ravens  and  bald  eagles,  while  in 
the  shubbery  the  mocking  bird  and  linnet  are  in  song, 
together  with  a  numerous  array  of  our  smaller  land 
birds. 

Goats  have  been  turned  loose  on  the  island  and  are 
now   wild,   inhabiting   the    more    inaccessible    regions, 


67 


where  they  are  hunted  for  sport  by  the  indefatigable 
Nimrods  who  come  to  the  island.  A  stage  road  has  been 
built  across  the  island  and  the  ride  over  it  is  a  memor- 
able experience.  The  road  winds  in  a  serpentine  trail  up 
the  bare  mountainside,  narrow  and  precipitous  most  of 
the  way,  with  exhilarating  views  of  land  and  sea.  It  is 
a  slow,  laborious  ascent  all  the  way  to  the  summit,  and 
the  six  horses  pull  with  unremitting  effort.  The  bold 
promontory  upon  which  we  finally  rest  commands  a 
superb  view  of  the  blue,  unruffled  sea,  with  the  shore 
line  to  the  north  and  the  far-away  range  of  the  Sierra 
Madre  Mountains.  I  did  not  continue  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  island,  which,  with  the  return  trip,  is  an 
alldaj-'s  ride,  but  nevertheless  found  the  journey  an 
inspiring  one. 

When  all  are  in  the  coach  ready  for  the  descent  the 
driver  gathers  the  reins  of  the  six  horses  in  his  hands, 
cracks  his  whip,  and  away  we  go  at  a  brisk  trot.  The 
light,  intelligent  leaders  prick  up  their  ears  and  seem  to 
enter  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  run.  The  driver  holds 
the  brake  with  one  foot,  and  as  we  swing  round  a  curve, 
deftly  gathers  in  the  reins  and  turns  his  six  trotting 
horses  on  the  very  brink  of  a  precipice.  Bowling  down 
the  road  at  a  merry  pace,  we  come  upon  a  precipitous 
headland  where  the  road  turns  in  an  ingenious  loop. 
The  horses  seem  about  to  plunge  off  into  space,  when 
the  leaders  suddenly  turn  and  gracefully  round  the 
curve,  starting  off  on  the  next  stretch  of  road  on  the 
homeward  run.  We  wonder  at  the  skill  of  the  driver 
and  the  intelligence  of  the  horses,  while  the  stirring 
grandeur  of  mountain  and  ocean  fill  us  with  awe. 

Santa  Catalina  is  a  lovely  spot  in  which  to  rest  and 
dream  away  the  summer  da3's  in  a  climate  that  is  balmy 
and  tempered,  where  the  gentle  breeze  just  ripples  the 
undulating  surface  of  the  baj-,  and  where  the  unending 
succession  of  fair  davs  is  a  constant  inducement  to  out- 


of-door  life.  In  this  sheltered  retreat 
of  Avalon  we  are  on  historic  ground, 
for  here,  centuries  ago,  the  Indians 
lived  in  peace  and  caught  their  fish 
and  hunted  among  the  rocks  for  aba--'  ->  ^'  ' 

lones;  here  came  the  discoverer  of  Alta  --  ' ' 

California,  Cabrillo;  and  later,  he  who  christened  it  with 
its  present  name,  Vizcaino.  Still  later  it  formed  a  retreat 
for  the  buccaneers  of  the  coast,  and  then  the  Franciscans 
came  to  induce  the  Indians  to  leave  their  happy  home 
and  dwell  and  toil  about  the  missions.  At  least  this  is 
the  supposition,  for  the  Indians  have  vanished  from  the 
island  and  left  behind  them  only  their  mortars  and  other 
implements  of  stone  and  shell.  In  this  quiet  bay  of 
Avalon  the  Indian  fisherman  has  paddled  his  canoe,  the 
Spanish  caravels  have  sought  refuge  from  the  tempest, 
the  freebooter  has  lain  in  wait  for  his  prey,  and  today 
pleasure  boats  glide  over  its  waters  and  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  steamer  sounds  to  warn  us  that  the  hour 
has  come  to  leave  for  San  Pedro. 


69 


RIVERSIDE   COUNTY. 

ONLY  three  miles  south  of  Sau  Bernardino  lies 
the  town  of  Colton,  surrounded  by  fruit  trees 
and  in  the  midst  of  an  agricultural  district. 
Riverside,  the  mother  of  the  orange  culture  of  Southern 
California,  extends  along  the  valley  of  the  Santa  Ana 
River,  six  miles  beyond.  It  is  surrounded  by  rugged 
hills  and  mountain  ranges  which  rise  in  striking  contrast 
to  the  tropical  verdure  of  the  valley.  All  about  the 
lowlands  are  orange  groves  and  avenues  of  shade  trees, 
broad  irrigating  ditches  and  gardens  of  flowers,  while 
great  boulder-covered  hills  rise  from  this  verdant  plain, 
bearing  aloft  a  sterile  waste  which  can  only  be  paralleled 
on  the  Mojave  Desert.  Farther  oflF,  across  the  valley  to 
the  north,  lies  the  San  Bernardino  Range,  colored  by  the 
atmosphere  a  purplish  blue,  a  beautiful  ever-present 
background  for  the  picturesque  valley. 

When  I  speak  of  Riverside  as  the  mother  of  the 
citrus  industry,  I  do  not  mean  that  the  fruit  was  first 
grown  here,  but  that  this  colony  made  the  first  and  most 
conspicuous  commercial  success  of  orange  raising,  and 
first  introduced  the  now  famous  Washington  navel  which 
has  been  distributed  from  this  point  throughout  the 
citrus  district.  The  two  original  trees  grown  from  cut- 
tings which  had  been  imported  at  Washington  from 
Brazil,  still  stand  in  the  Riverside  orchard,  the  parents 
of  nearly  all  the  orange  groves  of  the  State.  For  many 
years  Riverside  supplied  half  of  the  orange 
crop  of  Southern  California,  but  the  recent 
development  of  new  districts  has  reduced 
this  proportion  to  about  a  third.  The  actual 
number  of  carloads  exported  has,  however. 


71 


steadily  increased,  until  it  is  estimated  that  the  crop  of 
the  present  year  will  exceed  three  thousand  cars. 

The  orange  is  the  staff  of  life  in  this  district.  It  is 
the  golden  yield  for  which  all  men  toil.  Its  culture  has 
been  reduced  to  a  fine  art,  and  I  venture  to  saj-  that, 
search  the  wide  world  over,  no  spot  could  be  found 
where  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  is  conducted  more  intel- 
ligently, more  scientifically,  more  beautifully.  The 
fruit  growers  of  Riverside  came  here  largely  from  the 
East  and  middle  West,  and  the  brains  and  labor  which 
they  have  expended  with  unremitting  zeal  is  an  indica- 
tion of  American  character  of  which  the  whole  country 
may  well  be  proud.  The  original  intention  of  the  colony 
was  to  grow  the  mulberry  tree  and  propagate  the  silk- 
worm; but  this  plan  was  soon  abandoned  and  the  people 
turned  their  attention  successively  to  the  raising  of  wal- 
nuts, deciduous  fruits  and  grapes.  When  the  Wash- 
ington navel  orange  was  discovered  and  its  success 
demonstrated,  practically  all  the  farms  of  the  country 
were  planted  with  this  tree. 

The  first  requisite  for  success  in  the  culture  of  the 
orange  is  an  abundance  of  water.  In  this  section  as  in 
so  many  other  districts  of  Southern  California,  which 
were  found  a  desert  occupied  by  a  scanty,  unprogressive 
Mexican  population,  and  which  have  been  made  by 
Saxon  industry  perennial  gardens  of  verdure  and  bloom, 
the  irrigating  ditch  has  been  the  magic  wand  of  trans- 
formation. At  Riverside  there  are  three  canals  for  irri- 
gating the  adjacent  country.  They  are  broad,  even 
streams  flowing  from  the  headwaters  of  the  Santa  Ana 
River  and  led  in  cement  channels  down  through  the 
higher  parts  of  the  valley,  to  be  tapped  all  along  the 


■^^J 
v^S 


("fi!^^. 


3«t&i*fc* 


irpi^kTm^  L-z^jii^r' 


■•^:2JS^^t!l 


V.- 


1.  --^^Ijl^^f^plfell^^^^ 


Fiun 


*t  R,^ 


=,iJe 


waj'  by  smaller  rivulets  which  supply  the  orchards. 
They  are  exceedingly  picturesque  in  their  windings  and 
turnings,  now  flanked  by  orchards,  and  again  with  rows 
of  palms  bordering  the  ever-flowing  water.  Here  rise 
imposing  groves  of  eucalyptus,  their  dark  foliage  and 
white  stems  reflected  in  the  placid  stream;  there  extends 
a  bank  of  pampas  grass,  its  white  waving  plumes  bend- 
ing over  the  water  ;  and  again  the  ditch  winds  serenely 
down  an  uncultivated  reach  of  plain  where  the  rocky 
mountain  slopes  are  full  in  view. 

The  orchards  are  irrigated  from  four  times  a  year  to 
twice  a  month  according  to  the  location  of  the  land, 
little  rills  of  water  being  directed  between  the  rows  of 
trees,  where  they  flow  from  twelve  to  twenty-four  hours 
continuously.  After  irrigating  an  orchard  it  is  always 
cultivated  and  the  ground  is  left  perfectly  level  and 
finely  pulverized.  The  trees  are  watched  and  tended 
with  the  same  scrupulous  care  that  a  millionaire's  trot- 
ting horses  receive.  As  a  temperature  of  25°  Fahr., 
which  is  about  the  minimum  in  the  orange  district,  is 
low  enough  to  damage  the  fruit  and  new  leaves,  fires  are 
lighted  throughout  the  groves  whenever  the  thermom- 
eter threatens  to  fall  so  low,  and  the 
temperature  is  increased  by  this  dry 
heat  to  the  safety  mark,  which  is 
about  38°.     The  soil  is  enriched  with 


i-: 


^ 


fertilizers  from  time  to  time  and  the  trees  are  trimmed 
with  great  regularity  and  uniformity. 

As  the  orange  ripens  throughout  the  winter  months 
at  varying  intervals,  fruit  is  being  constantly  picked 
and  carried  to  the  packing  houses  at  this  season.  Both 
white  and  Japanese  labor  is  employed  in  this  work,  but 
the  cultivating,  plowing  and  general  care  of  the  trees  is 
as  a  rule  done  by  the  owner  of  the  orchard.  At  the 
packing  houses,  twenty-nine  of  which  were  in  operation 
during  the  past  season,  the  oranges,  which  are  brought 
looselj'  packed  in  boxes,  are  weighed  and,  if  necessary, 
cleaned  by  groups  of  5-oung  men  and  women  who  scrub 


■Jp 


the  fruit  to  remove  the  scales  or  any  surface  imperfec- 
tions. It  is  then  thrown  into  the  grader,  a  device  for 
automatically  assorting  the  fruit  in  lots  of  uniform  size, 
and  as  it  rolls  into  the  various  compartments  it  is  taken 
out  by  hand,  incased  in  tissue  paper  by  a  dexterous  toss 
and  twist,  and  packed  ready  for  shipment.  Each  box  is 
then  put  under  a  press  where  the  bulging  covers  are 
nailed  down,  and  it  is  ready  to  take  its  place  in  the 
freight  car  which  stands  at  the  door.  Here  the  lioxes 
are  stood  on  end  with  an  air  space  between  each  row, 
and  all  are  securely  fastened  with   braces.     When   the 


cars  are  packed  they  are  sent  to  Sau  Beruardino  to  be 
iced  and  thence  on  their  long  journey  to  give  refresh- 
ment to  countless  multitudes  in  the  snow-encompassed 
cities  of  the  North  and  East. 

It  need  not  be  a  matter  of  surprise  that  a  community 
which  has  shown  so  much  ability  in  bringing  the  orange 

-  ■  •'  ./,/,  ■■.-..  .   , 

^'  ^X  z 


industry  to  this  high  degree  of  perfection  is  a  settle- 
ment of  intelligent,  dignified  men  and  women,  justly 
proud  of  w^hat  they  have  accomplished,  but  nevertheless 
ready  and  eager  to  grow  in  strength  and  culture.  The}' 
possess  a  fine  school  system,  including  a  large,  well 
equipped  high  school,  and  saloons  are  not  tolerated  in 
their  midst. 

Aside  from  the  beauty  of  the  great  reaches  of  orange 
groves  and  the  garden  plots  about  the  homes,  in  the 
setting  of  rugged  mountains,  the  most  picturesque 
feature  of  Riverside  is  Magnolia  avenue,  a  broad  double 
street  extending  for  miles  down  the  valley.  Along  its 
center  is  a  continuous  line  of  pepper  trees,  with  twisted 
and  spreading  branches  bearing  their  vivid  green  stream- 
ers of  foliage,  drooping,  and  waving  with  every  breath  of 
wind.  In  vivid  contrast  are 
the  great  eucalj-ptus  trees, 
lofty  and  dignified,  with 
straight  bare  trunks  one  after 
another  in  statel}-  defile  down 


76 


■■M. 


)t 


The   border  of 


oue    side    of    the   avenue.      Upon 

the  other  side  are   rows   of   lofty 

palms,   their  great   trunks  amply 

sheathed    in   a    garment   of   dead 

leaves,   and   high   in    the   air   the 

clusters  of  large  fan-shaped  leaves, 

picturesque   with   their   ragged   edges. 

palms    is    varied    from    time    to    time    by    magnolias, 

C}-presses,   grevilias  and  other  ornamental  trees,  while 

orchards  and  gardens  extend  back  to  the  half-hidden 

homes  along  the  way.     It  is  a  most  imposing  avenue, 

without  a  parallel  in  its  grace  and  repose. 

So  then,  while  the  air  is  heavy  with  the  perfume  of 


"iy- 


,  ^Y;- 


.7; 


--  --^2^ 


the  orange  blossoms,  while  the  oriole  is  singing  his  sum- 
mer song  in  the  grevilia  and  the  people  are  keeping  cool 
as  best  they  may  in  canvas  coats,  let  us  glance  over  some 
other  portions  of  the  district  named  after  its  county  seat, 
Riverside. 

From  Highgrove  the  train  for  San  Jacinto  winds  up 
the  mountains  over  a  desert  waste.  It  is  not  quite  like 
the  desert  across  the  San  Bernardino  Mountains,  for 
there  is  some  indication  of  green  in  the  landscape,  and 
in  an  occasional  gully  a  few  small  sycamores  maintain 
an  unequal  struggle  for  existence,  but  in  the  main  the 
hill  slopes  are  covered  with  great  boulders  and  the  mesa 
land  with  sand  and  sagebrush.      There  is,  however,  a 


77 


TvAPfrtJ" 


bigness  and  freedom  and  promise  about  even  these  waste 
places  of  the  mighty  West  that  to  the  initiated  is  full  of 
inspiration  and  exhilaration.  A  sun-burnt  rider  lopes 
carelessly  over  the  mesa  land.  A  road-runner  darts 
through  the  chaj^jarral.  A  parting  glimpse  is  revealed 
of  the  green  Santa  Ana  Valley  about  Highgrove  and 
Riverside.  Far  to  the  southward  lies  the  might)'  San 
Jacinto  —  the  dominating  landmark  of  this  section.  It 
is  Southern  California  unchanged  by  the  benediction  of 
water  and  the  toil  of  man. 

Perris  is  the  first  town  beyond  the  divide  separating 
the  Santa  Ana  from  the  San  Jacinto  watershed.  It  is  a 
small  settlement  of  a  few  hundred  people,  but  important 
as  a  base  of  supplies  for  a  number  of  gold  mines  in  the 
adjacent  mountains  and  as  the  center  of  a  large  agricul- 
tural district.  From  this  point  on  to  San  Jacinto  the 
valley  is  one  vast  grain  field,  interrupted  here  and  there 
by  orchards  and  garden  plots.  At  Hemet  a  flour  mill, 
well  equipped  with  modern  appliances,  has  been  erected, 
and  an  excellent  little  brick  hotel  is  located  but  a  few 
minutes'  walk  from  the  depot. 

The  Hemet  orchard  and  farm  lands  are  supplied  with 
water  by  one  of  those  wonderful  irrigating  systems  by 
means  of  which  Southern  California  has  made  herself  a 
power  in  the  land.  Far  off  in  the  mountains,  at  an  ele- 
vation of  over  four  thousand  feet,  the  San  Jacinto  River 
flowed  through  a  granite  gorge,  and  modern  engineer- 
ing has  contrived  to  build  a  great  dam  here,  over  a 
hundred  and  twentj^  feet  in  height  and  a  hundred  feet 
in  thickness  at  the  base,  imprisoning  a  lake  of  water 
nearly  three  miles  in  length.  The  water  is  carried  in 
pipe  and  ditch  a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  being  stored 
in  a  receiving  reservoir  on  the  way  and  thence  dis- 
tributed with  great  uniformity  and  accuracy  over  the 
Hemet  lands. 

San  Jacinto,  which  is  the  terminus  of  one  branch  of 


79 


the  railroad,  lies  in  the  midst  ol  a  prosperous  farming 
district  but  a  few  miles  beyond  Hemet.  Grain  is  the 
staple  product.  It  is  grown  on  a  large  scale  and  is  cut 
and  threshed  by  great  harvesting  machines  with  their 
train  of  ten  or  fifteen  horses  and  as  many  men.  It  is  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  methods  in  use  b}'  the  Mexicans 
but  little  more  than  a  generation  ago,  when,  according 
to  a  chronicler  of  the  events  of  the  mission  days,  the 
grain  was  piled  in  a  corral,  into  which  a  band  of  wild 
horses  was  turned.  The  shouting  and  gesticulating  of 
the  vaqueros  kept  the  horses  plunging  about  until  the 


threshing  was  accomplished.  The  winnowing  was 
effected  by  selecting  a  windy  day  and  throwing  the 
wheat  and  chaff  into  the  air,  thus  allowing  the  latter  to 
blow  away. 

In  addition  to  the  grain  growing  and  raising  of 
deciduous  fruits  there  are  large  flocks  of  sheep  and  herds 
of  cattle  roaming  the  hills  and  the  borders  of  the  San 
Jacinto  Valley.  Higher  in  the  mountains  grow  the  pine 
woods  in  such  considerable  forests  that  lumbering  is 
carried  on  extensively.  Here  also  is  a  favorite  resort, 
Strawberry    Valley,   where    people    from    all   over    the 


^'^^■^.M 


heated    lowlands    . 
repair    during    the 
summer  months  to      '^ 
enjoy  the  freedom 
of  forest  life. 

A    few    miles  i!'^ 
east  of  San  Jacinto 
lies  the  quaint  little 

Indian  village  of  Sobobo.  The  road  to  the  settlement 
traverses  the  bed  of  the  San  Jacinto  River,  which,  in 
fact,  is  normally  no  river  at  all  but  a  wide  level  trench 
of  gravel  bordered  with  willows  and  cottonwoods,  and 
with  clusters  of  wild  verbena  growing  in  the  sandy  soil. 
The  lark  finch  sings  his  little  ditty  by  the  roadside  and 
the  pallid  horned  toad,  which  is  really  a  broad  flat  lizard 
with  curious  excrescences  on  its  head  and  back,  scram- 
Ijles  over  the  sand  and  stones.  The  range  of  mountains 
lying  to  the  north  of  the  river  bed,  is  dark  and  barren 
looking  ;  in  the  twilight  it  seems  like  a  huge  pile  of  iron 
rolled  and  molded  into  a  vast  heap.  Off  to  the  east 
Mount  San  Jacinto  lifts  its  mighty  bulk  to  an  elevation 
of  over  eleven  thousand  feet,  topped  with  snow  and 
pine-clad  upon  its  higher  slopes,  the  great  forests  show- 
ing diml}^  from  the  valley  like  a  scanty  covering  of 
brush. 

In  the  San  Jacinto  mountains,  not  far  from  Hemet,  is 
the  picturesque  and  delightful  resort  of  Idyllwild.  Here 
a  fine  sanatorium  has  been  built,  in  the  heart  of  the  ele- 
vated and  beautiful  Strawberry  Valley.  It  is  a  place  of 
out-door  pleasures,  high  mountains,  great  trees,  and 
fields  of  waving  ferns  —  a  house  of  all  delights. 

Sobobo  is  pleasantly  situated  upon  a  cluster  of  little 
hills  and  the  adjacent  plain.  Much  of  the  land  is  barren, 
but  an  irrigating  ditch  flows  through  the  town  bordered 
with  cottonwoods  and  with  garden  laud  below  it.  The 
little  frame  Catholic  church,  unadorned  save  with  a  cross. 


OOBOBO  ^  "^"^ '•  ->-i^^    -J-^'  --^ 


Stands  out  on  the  plain,  with  the  burying  ground  not 
far  away  marked  by  a  solitary  pepper  tree,  a  large  cross, 
and  many  fenced  graves.  The  houses  are  chiefly  of 
adobe,  simple  and  picturesque,  although  a  few  frame 
structures  obtrude  their  commonplace  forms.  The 
poorer  families  live  in  huts  of  brush  which  are  some- 
times the  merest  makeshifts  patched  with  old  gunny 
sacks  and  rubbish. 

I  observed  one  old  woman  sitting  on  the  ground 
with  a  piece  of  rusty  iron  in  her  hand,  digging  a  hole  in 
the  sandy  soil,  and  wondered  what  she  was  about.  She 
seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  and  mumbled  to  me  in  a 
jargon  of  Spanish  and  Indian  as  she  worked.  Presently 
the  hole  was  completed,  for  she  stood 
up  and  inserted  a  stake  which  she  had 
§^?>?  ->^.  ifj).  brought  to  the  spot.     With  the  same 

deliberation  auother  hole  was  dug  and 
.another  stake  stood  in  place.     Other 
sticks  and  a  pile  of  brush  lying  close 
"  — --      g^^  hand  were  to  take  their  place  upon 

the  structure  and  ere  night  this  venerable  and  deliberate 
builder  of  houses  would  doubtless  be  ensconced  in  her 
new  home.  Even  the  birds  labor  wdth  more  design  than 
this  upon  their  nests  ! 

I  went  into  many  of  the  houses  in  search  of  baskets, 

but  my  quest  was   not   unlike  Paddy's  effort    to   get  a 

frying  pan  on   the  coast  of  France.     I  would  greet  the 

bright-faced  women  who  sat  by  the  door  with  their 

patchwork  or  were  busy  within  about  the  cooking, 

with  a  polite  "  buenas  tardes!  "  as  if  I  were  a  master 

of   the    language,    and    then,    after    a   courteous 

rejoinder   I   proceeded   to   ask  them  if  they  had 

my  baskets,  to  which  they  generally  shook  their 


heads  or  answered,  "  no  sabe."  How- 
ever, I  managed  to  make  them  under- 
stand,  and  incidentally  saw  many 
picturesque  glimpses  of  their  simple 
home  life  —  the  girl  returning  from 
the  spring  with  a  pail  of  water  in  each 
hand,  the  dark  adobe  room  with  glow- 
ing coals  in  the  fireplace  and  the  steaming  pot,  the  black- 
eyed  children  playing  with  their  dolls  and  the  group  of 
men  chatting  while  they  soaked  their  rawhide  thongs 
in  the  ditch.  The  simplicity  and  intimate  familiarity 
of  old  and  young,  the  gentleness  and  placidity  of  their 
life  was  charming  and  fraught  with  many  a  lesson  for 
those  who  would  fain  be  their  teachers. 

Despite  all  this,  the  visit  left  in  the  mind  more  of 
pathos  than  of  joy.     The  cough  of  the  consumptive  was 


liJB.^' 


-So  BO  DO 

heard  only  too  frequently  in  this  little  town  of  two  hun- 
dred, and  the  evidences  of  poverty,  idleness  and  drink 
were  all  too  apparent.  With  abundant  opportunity  to 
raise  their  own  vegetables,  they  nevertheless  depend  on 
a  Chinese  vender  who  comes  w itli  his  wagon  from  town 
and  supplies  their  very  moderate  wants.  The  men  do 
the  sheep  shearing  for  the  country  round,  but  many  of 
them  get  drunk  when .  paid  off  and  gamble  away  their 
money  within  a  few  days.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the  grad- 
ual absorption,  conquest  and  extermination,  conscious 
or  unconscious,  of  the  native  races  wherever  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  comes  in  their  midst.  These  remnants  of  the 
Mission  Indians  have  seen  their  lands  slip  away  from 


83 


^^r^^Ss^^^ 


sSOBOBO 


r-^.-^ 


them  aud  their  people  die  off  without  protest  or  opposi- 
tion. The  causes  are  partly  internal,  partly  external, 
but  the  results  are  one  of  the  sad  but  seemingly  inevit- 
able attendants  of  the  march  of  civilization. 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson's  heart  was  so  touched  bj' 
what  she  saw  of  the  wrongs  of  these  defenseless  people 
that  she  was  moved  to  write  "  Ramona."  After  looking 
into  the  faces  of  some  of  these  fine,  manly,  yet  gentle 
Indians,  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  Alessandro  was  by 
no  means  an  impossible  character.  I  talked  with  Mrs. 
M.  E.  Sheriff  Fowler  who  established  here  the  first 
Indian  school  in  Southern  California,  and  who  did  much 
to  aid  Mrs.  Jackson  in  gathering  material  for  "  Ramona." 
She  is  full  of  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  people,  but 
feels  that  their  condition  is  on  the  whole  better  today 
than  it  was  a  few  jears  ago,  through  the  influence  of  the 
school,  the  missionaries,  and  the  interest  and  sympathy 
aroused  by  Mrs.  Jackson's  powerful  book. 

Another  branch  of  the  railroad  leads  from  Ferris  to 
Lake  Elsinore,  following  the  course  of  the  San  Jacinto 
River.  The  first  impression  of  Elsinore  is  of  a  bold  and 
barren  country  with  a  long,  narrow  sheet  of  water 
hemmed  in  by  mountains  which,  across  on  the  southern 
side,  rise  in  a  seemingly  abrupt  range.  The  little  village 
of  Elsinore  lies  in  a  narrow  valley  extending  off  from 
the  northern  shore  of  the  lake,  and  is  notable  for  its  hot 
sulphur  springs.  The  baths  here  are  delightful  and  have 
jirovt'd   c'S]icci;iIly   ';u^(■l■■^^^^l]   in   the  treatment  of  rheu- 


0^€' 


matic  and  blood  complaints.  The 
water  is  peculiarly  soft  and  sooth- 
ing, and,  despite  the  strong  infu- 
sion of  sulphur,  clear  as  crystal. 
The  lake  is  six  miles  in  length 
and  two  and  a  half  miles  wide,  with  orchards  and  farms 
along  its  shores  where  figs  and  oranges  are  grown  as 
well  as  grain.  In  the  sheltered  canyons  the  sycamore 
thrives,  and  by  the  stream  are  willows,  but  the  open 
country  is  covered  with  only  a  low  growth  of  chaparral 
except  high  up  among  the  mountains  where  dark  pines 
march  in  silent  defile  up  the  steep  slopes.  With  great 
clouds  curling  amid  the  "high  places  and  sunlight  break- 
ing through  here  and  there  upon  the  dark  water,  with 


squalls  sweeping  across  the  lake  attended  by  showers, 
and  white  crests  that  glisten  through  the  mist,  with 
chattering  swallows  darting  hither  and  thither  and  coots 
hurrying  to  shelter  along  the  shore.  Lake  Elsinore  is 
full  of  the  witchery  of  a  nature  drama  —  a  living,  ever- 
changing  scene  of  conflict  and  triumph.  Again,  when 
the  sun's  first  rays  are  thrust  out  from  behind  the  range 
of  mountains  to  glance  over  the  glassy,  unwrinkled  sur- 
face of  the  lake  and  the  beautiful  contour  of  the  moun- 
tains is  mirrored  on  the  motionless  water,  nature  seems 
to  be  enchained  by  a  spell  of  beauty.  To  those  who  are 
alive  to  the  subtle  moods  of  the  outdoor 
world,  this  region  is  full  of  change  and 
charm.   There  is  boating  upon  the  lake — 


85 


L«Jk«  €j£><noM.       — 


rowing,  sailing  and  cruising  in  the  naphtha  launch  —  a 
splendid  roadway  for  driving  all  around  it,  and  many 
excursions  oflF  from  its  shores.  In  summer  the  tempera- 
ture mounts  high,  but  a  cool  breeze  generally  blows  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  dryness  of  the  air  makes  the  heat 
endurable. 

The  mountains  of  the  Elsinore  region  are  rich  in 
mineral  and  clay.  Ore  heavy  with  gold  and  silver  has 
been  discovered,  asbestos  has  been  taken  out  in  quan- 
tities suflficient  to  make  it  a  commodity  of  commerce  on 
a  small  scale,  and  a  coal  mine  is  located  here,  constantly 
employing  a  force  of  from  fifteen  to  thirty  miners. 
There  are  mountains  of  potters'  clay  in  the  same  vicin- 
ity, which  is  capable  of  supplying  an  almost  unlimited 
demand  for  material  not  only  for  pipe  and  tile  but  also 
for  the  most  refined  products  of  the  potter's  craft. 

With  all  this  mineral  wealth,  with  its  sulphur  springs, 
its  boating  and  its  agricultural  resources,  the  Elsinore 
region  will  certainly  some  day  be  one  of  the  important 
sections  of  Southern  California,  but  it  needs  the  quick- 
ening touch  of  enterprise  and  capital  to  develop  its 
resources  which  lie  so  close  at  hand.  Already  there  is 
a  good  hotel  here,  and  the  rest  will  come  with  time. 


86 


SAN   DIEGO   COUNTY. 

THE  histarj'  of  California  is  written  iu  the  deeds  of 
but  three  full  generations  of  men.  A  little  over 
a  century  ago  it  was  the  undisputed  home  of 
hosts  of  Indians  who  lived  their  simple  life  in  its  valleys, 
undreaming  of  the  vast  changes  which  many  of  them 
would  be  called  upon  to  witness.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
vague  stories  among  them  of  strange  men  who  had 
visited  their  shores,  for  Cabrillo  and  Vizcaino  had  been 
here  more  than  a  century  earlier,  and  Sir  Francis  Drake 
—  a  dim  foreshadowing  of  the  two  races  which  were 
destined  in  time  to  contend  for  supremacy  in  this  land 
by  the  western  sea  —  but  the  simple  people  lived  the 
life  of  their  fathers,  hunting  for  game  in  the  mountains, 
grinding  their  acorns  in  stone  mortars,  weaving  their 
baskets,  loving  and  sorrowing  with  little  thought  of  the 
morrow. 

It  was  the  pious  zeal  of  Father  Junipero  Serra  which 
occasioned  the  first  great  change.  He  had  longed  to 
devote  his  life  to  the  conversion  of  the  California 
Indians,  and  when  at  last  the  opportunity  arrived, 
although  no  longer  young,  he  welcomed  it  with  all  the 
fervor  of  his  devoted  nature,  and  accomplished  by  peace- 
ful means  the  subjugation  of  the  natives  of  California 
which  Spain  had  iu  vain  attempted  to  achieve  by  force 
of  arms. 

It  was  at  San  Diego  that  the  great  work  of  his  life 
commenced.  Here,  after  a  fatiguing  overland  journey 
from  Mexico,  he  stood  upon  the  shore  of  the  bay  and 
ministered  to  the  scurvy-stricken  crew  of  the  ship  which 
had  come  to  assist  him.  Here  many  of  the  party  were 
buried,  but,  undeterred  by  so  inauspicious  an  omen,  he 


■Xl\i     1^,  -53*nD^<., 


undertook  the  task  which  he  so  longed  to  see  accom- 
plished—  the  conversion  of  the  Indians. 

Mass  was  first  celebrated  in  a  rude  iuclosure  of  reeds, 
the  mission  bells  being  suspended  from  the  overhanging 
limb  of  a  tree.  The  Indians  did  not  look  upon  the 
intruders  with  favor,  and  a  month  after  their  arrival 
attacked  them  with  bows  and  arrows,  killing  one  of  the 
party,  while  the  guns  of  the  mission  soldiers  replied 
with  deadly  effect.  The  gentleness  and  forbearance  of 
Father  Serra  and  his  co-workers  soon  restored  peace, 
however,  and  for  the  first  few  years  the  little  Spanish 
settlement  by  the  sea  was  unmolested. 

Six  years  after  the  arrival  of  the  Franciscans  at  San 
Diego,  during  the  first  year  that  the  American  colonies 
had  arisen  in  revolt  against  their  English  taskmasters. 
Father  Serra,  little  knowing  of  the  momentous  conflict 
upon  the  Atlantic  shore,  and  without  a  suspicion  that 
the  result  of  that  war  might  one  day  determine  the 
destiny  of  this  land  of  his  adoption,  moved  the  mission 
to  a  more  favorable  location  a  few  miles  inland,  at  a 
point  commanding  a  beautiful  view  of  the  willow-lined 
San  Diego  River  as  it  wound  down  to  the  sea.  During 
this  same  memorable  year,  the  Indians,  incensed  by  the 

conversion  and  baptism  of 
sixty  of  their  number,  fell 
upon  the  mission  and  burn- 
ed  it,    killing    one    of   the 


fathers,  the  blacksmith  and  carpenter.  Undismayed 
and  uurevengeful,  Father  Serra  and  his  fellow  Francis- 
cans commenced  the  task  of  rebuilding  the  mission  and 
pacifying  the  Indians. 

Such,  in  brief  was  the  inaugural  of  the  Spanish  occu- 
pation of  California,  an  episode  unique  in  history  —  an 
order  of  beggar  priests  growing  into  a  federation  of 
potentates  as  absolute  in  temporal  as  in  spiritual  power, 
the  feudal  chiefs  of  principalities  centering  about  the 
chain  of  missions  which  extended  along  the  coast  of 
California  from  San  Diego  to  Sonoma,  literally  the 
fathers  of  the  children  of  the  land,  constituting  a  S5'stem 
of  vassalage  conceived  and  executed  in  a  decade. 

It  was  a  strange  power  which  the  fathers  acquired 
over  the  Indians.  With  but  a  corporal's  guard  of  sol- 
diers they  gained  the  mastery  over  many  tribes,  inducing 
them  to  live  about  the  missions,  persuading  them  to 
accept  the  religion  of  the  Cross,  gradually  tightening 
the  bands  which  held  them  subject  until  they  had  them 
completely  under  control,  compelling  them  to  learn  and 
to  labor,  imposing  tasks  and  penances,  and  exacting 
oljedience  in  all  things.  The  women  were  taught  to 
spin,  weave  and  sew,  and  the  men  were  taught  a  great 
variety  of  trades  and  industries.  The  more  intelligent 
ones  were  instructed  in  reading  and  singing  while  some 
learned  to  play  upon  various  musical  instruments. 

At  last,  when  the  missions  were  at  the  height  of  their 
power  and  success,  came  from  Mexico  the  dread  order 
of  secularization,  abolishing  the  rule  of  the  Francis- 
cans and  proclaiming  the  independence  of  the  Indians. 
But  the  Indians,  alas,  had  been  taught  only  enough  to 
make  them  useful  to  the  church,  not  enough  to  make 
them  self-sustaining  under  their  new  conditions.  The 
rule  of  the  F'ranci scans  was  a  mild  slavery,  but  release 
from  this  bondage  meant  inevitable  degeneration  and 
death.     They  were  happy,   for  the  most  part,  in  their 


slavery,  and  in  the  main  they  have  been  contented  in 
the  gradual  disintegration  which  has  followed  it,  but 
this  does  not  lessen  the  shame  of  their  unhappy  destiny, 
crushed  and  scattered  as  they  have  been  by  the  rude 
world  which  is  the  vanguard  of  modem  civilization. 

Side  by  side  with  the  missions  grew  up  the  Mexican 
pueblos  and  the  ranches  which  became  most  prosperous 
as  the  missions  drew  near  the  end  of  their  days  of 
power.  These  were  the  times  of  whitewashed  adobe 
homes  with  roofs  of  dull  red  tile,  with  wide  verandas 
and  sunny  patios.  They  were  the  days  of  dark  cabal- 
leros  with  gay  costumes  and  jangling  spurs  and  silver- 
mounted  bridles,  of  tinkling  guitars  that  marked  the 
rhythm  for  merry  dancers,  and  of  free,  open-handed  hos- 
pitality. They  were  the  daj's  when  the  saints  controlled 
the  destinies  of  high  and  low.  Great  herds  of  cattle 
roamed  the  mesas,  and  bands  of  sheep  cropped  the 
herbage  started  into  life  by 
the  winter  rains. 

Then  came  Fremont  and 
Stockton.  There  was  a 
clash  of  arms,  a  conquering 
and  settling  of  the  land,  and 
the  Mexican  life  vanished  like  a  dream.  Imperceptibly 
it  shrank  away  before  the  host  of  invaders  who  have 
made  the  Golden  West  of  today.  Now  there  is  a  clang- 
ing of  electric  car  bells  where  once  the  clumsy  old  two- 
wheeled  ox  cart  rumbled  with  its  load  of  hides,  and 
polished  carriages  roll  smoothly  over  the  asphalt  streets 
where  once  the  Spanish  rider  proudly  cantered  down  the 
dusty  road.  The  adobe  houses  have  crumbled  and  the 
tiled  roofs  are  scattered  to  the  winds,  replaced  by  the 
more  comfortable  and  convenient,  but  less  simple  and 
picturesque  homes  of  the  American. 

It    is    all   very   diflFerent,    this    era    of   progress.     It 
brought  with  it  the  boom,  an  extravagant,  unreasonable 


inflation  of  all  .values  and  prospects,   followed  by  the 
inevitable   collapse   and    then   a   slow   but    steady   and 
healthful  recuperation.     But  the  life  of  today  is  not  likej)  i>^ 
that  of  old,  and  can  we  say  that  it  is  in  all  waj'S  better  ?       \j/ 
The  old  was  in  the  main  an  unthinking,  unprogressive 
race  under  the  domination  of  the  priests,  superstitious 
and  credulous,  while  the  new  is  the  earnest,  ambitious 
American,  liberal  in  thought  and  quick  in  action.     But 
in  the  new  we  miss  something  of  the  sweet  repose  of  the 
old.     The  childlike  simplicity   is  gone,  and  the  open- 
hearted  hospitality.     There  was  a  picturesque  charm,  an 
idyllic  beauty,  about  the  adobe  home  and  the  life  cen- 
tered there,  which  does  not  invest  the  motley  rows  of 
houses  constituting  a  modern  American  town  or  city. 
Nevertheless,   there   is   a   promise   of  latent   power,  an 
earnest  of  the  life  of  a  generation  to  follow,  in  all  this 
busy   outreaching   and    heterogeneous    stir   which   was 
wholly   lacking   in   the   pueblo.      We    have    gained   in 
science  and  enterprise  what  we  have  lost  of  poetry 
and  repose,  but  when  these  two  are  added  to  our  life,    , 
as  they  nmst  be  ere  long,  how  much  more  beautiful 
and  significant  the  modern  life  will  become  ! 

San  Diego  has  witnessed  all  these  changes  of  .-^r/: 
a  century  and  has  been  an  active  participant  in  ■'  i 
them.  Today  it  seems  nearer  to  the  historic  past 
than  any  other  city  in  California.  Standing  upon  the 
heights  of  Mission  Cliff  Park,  the  eye  can  range  up 
and  down  the  vallej-  which  formed  the  high  road  for 
Father  Serra  a  century  and  more  ago.  Toward  the 
upper  end  of  the  valley  stands  the  poor,  dilapidated 
ruin  of  the  first  mission  of  Alta  California,  and  away 
off  beyond  the  lower  end  stretches  the  shining  sea. 
At  this  lower  end  of  the  vallej',  near  the  shore  of  the 
bay,  is  located  the  old  town  of  San  Diego. 
The  ruins  of  its  presidio  may  still  be  traced  upon  / 

one  of  the  hills  commanding  a  view  of  the  bay  ^/ 


"^Jdl^ 


■P.ln 


0W7 


.^•■ 


in  one  direction  and  of  the  val- 
ley   with    its    mission    in    the 
.■v^^_      -  ^^.^"^^gXJi^other.      Upon    a    considerably 
'^~'ii;'*—  ■  higher  knoll  the  earthworks  of 

Fort  Stockton  are  plainly  visible,  the  two  forti^  nations 
telling  of  more  than  a  passing  episode  in  the  history  of 
California. 

The  home  of  Don  Juan  Bandini  stands  in  the  center 
of  old  San  Diego,  sadlj'  changed  by  the  addition  of  a 
frame  upper  story  and  a  great  black  sign  painted  upon 
its  side.  Seiior  Bandini  was  a  man  of  considerable 
importance  in  the  days  of  the  Mexican  supremacy,  and 
a  firm  friend  of  the  Americans,  in  consequence  of  which 
friendship,  it  is  said,  he  lost  his  large  estate  in  Lower 
California.  Added  interest  is  attached  to  his  personality 
from  the  prominence  with  which  he  figures  in  Dana's 
"  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast."  It  was  but  a  mile  or  two 
lower  down  on  the  beach  from  Old  Town  that  Dana 
encamped  at  the  hide  house,  and  where  his  Kanaka 
friend,  of  whom  he  gives  so  touching  an  account,  lived 
and  died. 

Opposite  the  Bandini  house  is  a  tiled  roofed  adobe, 
tenantless  and  forlorn,  which  was  formerly  the  home  of 
the  Estudillos,  a  wealthy  and  influential  Mexican  family 
of  the  early  days.  The  interest  which  now  invests  the 
place,  however,  is  occasioned  by  the  reference  to  it  in 
"  Ramona  "  as  the  residence  of  Father  Gaspara  and  the 

account  of  Alessandro  and 
^f^/  Ramona  signing  there  the 
marriage  record.  The 
old  adobe  church  where, 
according  to  Mrs.  Jack- 
son's touching  story,  the 
marriage  was  solemnized, 
stands  near  the  quaint 
adobe-walled     cemetery, 


/^  -,::i:^M^J^-^ 


3f5r''?*^^^3-^s§^ge2^' — 


but  the  clapboard  sheathing,  added  as  protection  from  the 
weather,  hardly  enhances  the  picturesque  effect. 

Modern  San  Diego  is  situated  on  the  bay  shore  two 
or  three  miles  below  Old  Town.  The  residence  portion 
of  the  city  lies  upon  the  hills  overlooking  the  beautiful 
sweep  of  bay  and  ocean,  while  the  business  section  is 
located  on  the  lower  ground  reaching  down  toward  the 
water.  The  waterfront,  known  in  the  local  vernacular 
as  "  Stingaree  Town,"  is  a  motley  but  very  picturesque 
section  —  with  fishermen's  shanties  standing  on  stilts  out 
over  the  water,  backed  by  irregular  streets  of  the  Chinese 
quarter    where   John    chat-  ^       ~^"-^^_  -"'y     >^)     - 

ters    with    his   neighbor   or  *S}}^*^f.^,'i 

gravely     smokes    his    pipe      ___ .   , .,^-^-i-  '  ^      /     c 

while  watching  the  group  of        ^^  -  ^V'''-*  ' 

children,  with  almond  eyes        „     ,  ^  r         \ 

and  dangling  queues  of  silk,  ^^^i,^-,  lj_^  jy  i~i^ 

playing     in     the     doorway.         _;-^  ~  *^^^^:^ 

Farther  along  on  the  water-  ou  t„ 

front  is  the  shipping,  with  the  large  wharf  of  Spreckles 
for  unloading  coaling  vessels,  and  the  Santa  Fe  pier. 

The  business  part  of  the  town  contains  many  sub- 
stantial well-built  modern  blocks,  the  buildings  in  mis- 
sion style  being  a  feature  of  the  local  architecture, 
linking  in  sentiment  the  traditions  of  the  past  with  the 
life  of  today.  The  large,  well-appointed  salt-water  baths 
near  the  Santa  Fe  depot  and  one  of  the  livery  stables 
show  the  possibility  of  adapting  this  architecture  to  a 
variety  of  uses.  Electric  car  lines  afford  transportation 
over  the  city,  which  extends  over  a  surjjrisingly  large 


■J^..  ,__ ;^r  J\,:>f'^;~r■• 


.^^MM^^^Ji-'i^r'  I  *  jf  ^':,s£u: 


area  of  country  in  a  rather  narrow  strip  overlooking  the 
bay. 

Many  fine,  large  residences  line  the  heights,  and  the 
visitor  from  the  East  is  everywhere  impressed  by  the 
profusion  of  flowers.  Even  the  cottages  have  their  rose 
gardens  and  blooming  vines  clambering  up  over  the 
roofs,  and  in  one  garden  beside  a  very  modest  little 
home  I  first  saw  bananas  in  fruit,  drooping  in  great  clus- 
ters amid  the  immense  green  leaves  of  the  plant.  The 
view  from  this  elevated  portion  of  the  town  is  ever 
changing  with   the   atmospheric  effects.      Point    Loma 

is   seen   as   a   great, 

bold  headland  thrust 

y^--^-^S-~i  ^ '  ^1  P^mSS:^';^^?fCTr~    .     .     f^from  the  north  down 


I 


i^illMIU^i'tftj^ 


into  the  ocean,  and 
::-  forming  within  its 
capacious  shelter  a 
long  sweep  of  bay  cir- 
~"~-~->.'  cling  in  and  around 
to  the  southeast  with  a  .shore  line  of  some  twent}'  miles. 
From  the  southern  end  of  the  bay,  not  far  from  the 
boundary  line  of  Mexico,  a  low  and  exceedingly  narrow 
sand  spit,  the  Coronado  peninsula,  reaches  up  in  a  curv- 
ing sweep  toward  Point  Loma,  widening  out  into  two 
flat  blotches  of  land  near  the  upper  end,  and  leaving  but 
a  narrow  passage  into  the  still  water  of  the  inner  ba)^ 
From  the  hills  of  the  city  this  rather  unusual  combination 
of  abrupt  headlaiul  and  low  curving  peninsula  of  sand, 
with  the  baj-  within  and  the  sea  without,  is  in  full  view, 
with  a  foreground  of  housetops  and  city  streets,  and  on 


% 


"  5*on.  n  "y/h«r|.-'.  . 


94 


-.in*(iir'^"'  "  • 


the   horizon  line  the  blue  Coronado 

Islands.       Under    a    sunny    sky    the 

water  of  the  bay  is  sometimes  as  blue 

as    indigo,    with    the    far-away    land  '-fJ^^i 

l)athed  in  purple  mist,  while  a  foggy   nfjiff^ 

atmosphere  alters  the  hues  to  a  dull 

blue  and  steel  gra}',  with  patches  ol 

shimmering    silver    light    upon    the 

water  where  the  sun  breaks  through 

in  streaming  rays.  ~ 

The  back  country  about  San  Diego  was  something  of 
a  surprise  to  me,  as  I  had  expected  to  find  much  less 
cultivation  and  the  desert  much  nearer  to  the  coast.  I 
was  scarcel}'  prepared  for  the  great  extent  of  orange  and 
lemon  groves,  of  olive  orchards,  in  some  instances  con- 
sisting of  large  trees,  fifteen  or  more  years  of  age,  of 
loquats  and  figs.  Chula  Vista  and  the  El  Cajon  Valley 
are  especially  notable  for  their  extensive  and  well-kept 
orchards,  and  the  latter  district  is  famous  for  its  finely 
cured  raisins.  Grain  is  cultivated  in  that  part  of  the 
valley  land  which  is  not  planted  with  fruit  trees,  and 
stock  ranges  over  the  mountains. 

The  Fanita  Rancho  in  the  El  Cajon  is  one  of  the 
large  cattle  ranches  of  the  district.  It  is  a  lovely  region 
with  the  willow-lined  San  Diego  River  flowing  between 
hills  which  lead  up  to  the  imposing  and  abrupt  El  Cajon 
Mountain,  and  beyond  it  the  sharp  peak  of  Cu)^amaca 
thrust  into  the  clouds.  A  lovely  little  pond  lies  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  vallc}',  near  the  shore  of  which  stands 
an  excellent  hotel  known  as  The  Lakeside.  A  stage 
road  leads  to  Alpine,  farther  up  in  the"  mountains  —  a 

i      , 


UJJ  a: 


charming  little  resort  among 
the  oak  trees —  while  at  still 
greater  altitudes  are  forests 
of  pine  and  fir.  Beyond  all 
this,  but  many  miles  inland, 
-^  lies  the  Colorado  Desert,  a 
portion  of  which  is  depressed 
about  three  hundred  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  sea. 

A  favorite  excursion  from 
San  Diego  is  through 
National  City,  Chula  Vista  and  Otay  across  the  United 
States  boundary  into  old  Mexico.  Tia  Juana,  the 
little  town  across  the  border,  suffered  from  a  disastrous 
flood  a  few  years  ago,  and  has  been  rebuilt  as  a  rather 
commonplace  Mexican  hamlet.  There  are  stores  where 
Mexican  curios  are  exposed  for  sale,  and  Reuben,  the 
guide  who  conducts  parties  across  the  line,  is  worth  a  trip 
to  almost  any  place  to  see.  With  the  exception  of  the 
ostriches,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  anj^thing  in 
Southern  California  quite  so  original  and  unusual  as 
Reuben.  He  is  dark  —  very  dark,  in  fact  —  and  his 
mouth  may  be  fitly  compared  with  the  corresponding 
portion  of  the  above-mentioned  bird.  But  the  most 
striking  thing  about  him  is  the  immense  sombrero  which 
quite  leaves  the  wearer  in  the  shade.  I  have  no  vivid 
recollection  of  anything  he  showed  us  during  the  'bus 
ride  from  the  railroad  terminus  to  Tia  Juana  except  his 
picture  and  the  boundary  line,  but  nevertheless  Reuben 
is  a  very  talkative  and  a  very  important  personage. 


fm 


The  Tia  Juaua  excursion  is  not  complete  without  a 
passing  glini])se  of  the  Sweetwater  dam.  This  great  pile 
of  masonry  incloses  a  lake  at  the  foot  of  San  Miguel 
Peak,  which  furnishes  water  for  irrigating  many  miles  of 
orchard  land  below  it.  It  is  the  most  accessible  of  the 
irrigating  storage  systems  of  Southerii  California,  and 
is  of  great  interest  as  an  illustration  of  the  immense 
obstacles  which  have  been  surmounted  in  bringing 
water  to  the  land. 

The  objective  point,  sooner  or  later,  of  all  travelers 
in  this  region  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  is  the  Hotel  del  Cor- 
onado,  which  stands  unique  among  the  pleasure  resorts 
of  America.  It  is  a  mammoth  franie  structure  built 
upon  the  very  brink  of  the  ocean,  where  the  murmur  of 
the  waves  breaking  upon  the  beach  is  ever  in  the  air. 
But  a  stone's  throw  across  the  sandy  rim  of  beach  lie  the 
still  waters  of  the  bay,  where  row  and  sail  boats  are  float- 
ing at  anchor  or  cutting  their  keen  way  through  the 
rippling  tide.  The  hotel  stands  where  the  thread  of 
sand  separating  bay  and  sea  suddenly  widens  out  into  a 
considerable  peninsula,  while  to  the  northwest  lies  the 
town  of  Coronado  Beach,  the  site  of  many  fine  residences, 
gardens  and  avenues.  There  is  a  botanical  garden  here, 
a  very  picturesque  little  stone  church,  and  beautiful 
views  of  ocean,  bay  and  mountains.  It  is  connected 
with  San  Diego  b}^  a  ferry  which  makes  trips  every 
twenty  minutes  during  the  day  and  every  fort}'  minutes 
at  night. 

On  approaching  the  hotel  for  the  first  time,  the  visitor 
is  impressed  by  its  immense  size  and  its  freedom  from 
architectural  conventions.  It  is  painted  white  with  red 
roofs,  and  the  lines  are  so  varied  and  broken  by  great 
turrets,  spires,  towers  and  dormer  windows  that  it  pre- 
sents a  very  unique  and  striking  appearance.  There 
surely  was  never  another  building  constructed  on  similar 
lines.     With  all  its  seeming  irregularity,  however,  it  is 


97 


-h4  \i 

*i"'"'."i;*siC;;.'~-?^-'/  ■!L^  \ 


.  .. .  'lis  W'*"*^-' 


i 


a^W^l^i        iff'  u-C 


Wi:P;ifift 


built  about  an  immense  rectangular  court  open  to  the 
sky  and  inclosing  a  beautiful  tropical  garden.  The  cor- 
ridors are  open  and  extend  all  around  this  court,  con- 
nected by  outside  stairways  with  lattice-work  railing. 
Here  rare  tropical  palms  grow  to  immense  size  and  the 
air  is  fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  the  lemon  blossom. 
The  California  valley  quail,  in  showy  plumage  and  erect 
helmet  crest,  runs  about  here  perfectly  at  home,  and 
humming  birds,  with  their  high,  fine  chatter,  dart  from 
blossom  to  blossom.  The  blithe  notes  of  the  linnet  and 
the  sweet  pipe  of  the  song  sparrow  is  ever  in  the  air  and 
everything  about  the  court  bespeaks  rest  and  peace. 

The  interior  furnishings  are  luxurious.  From  the 
office  extends  a  succession  of  reception  rooms,  a  ladies' 
billiard  room,  writing  room,  and  parlors,  with  the 
immense  pavilion  for  entertainments  upon  the  south- 
western corner.  From  the  cosy  breakfast  room  a  charm- 
ing view  of  the  sea  is  presented,  with  the  garden  of 
palms  and  flowers  in  the  foreground  and  beyond  it  the 
line  of  sandy  beach  and  foamy  breakers.  The  main 
dining  room  is  a  vast  hall  capable  of  accommodating 
nearly  a  thousand  persons,  and  during  meal  hours  pre- 
sents a  striking  and  brilliant  scene  of  animation. 

Along  the  ocean  side  is  a  great  glass-covered  veranda 
where  the  broad  expanse  of  the  sea  lies  in  its  majestic 
reach,  with  the  graceful  curve  of  the  outer  bay  from 
Point  IvOma  on  the  west  around  to  the  southeastern 
headland.  The  rocky  Coronado  Islands  are  full  before 
us  and  an  occasional  yacht  or  merchant  vessel  may  be 
seen  standing  off  the  coast  as  it  beats  to  the  windward 
of  Point  Loma.  A  little  way  off  on  the  beach  one  sees, 
in  the  summer,  a  great  city  of  tents.  This  city  is  an 
adjunct  to  the  hotel,  and  tents  are  rented,  furnished  or 
unfurnished,  by  the  management.  They  are  laid  out  in 
streets,  floored,  sewered,  and  attended  in  the  best  possible 
manner.    A  caf6  is  maintained  specially  for  the  campers. 


99 


The  climate  of  Corouado  comes  as  near  to  perfection 
as  any  in  the  known  world.  There  is  a  perpetual  breeze 
from  the  sea  which  is  never  harsh,  and  which  3'et  prevents 
the  temperature  from  rising  to  an  uncomfortable  height. 
According  to  the  San  Diego  w'eather  reports  from  1875 
to  1891,  a  period  of  six  thousand  two  hundred  and  five 
days,  there  were  six  thousand  and  six  days  during  which 
the  thermometer  did  not  go  above  80°  nor  below  40° 
Fahr.  The  sea  breeze  is  a  peculiarly  drj'  current  in 
Southern  California,  being  the  descending  return  column 
of  air  from  the  Colorado  desert.  During  the  day  time 
the  heated  interior  desert  is  constantly  drawing  in  the 
cooler  sea  air  which  rises  on  the  desert  and  returns  to 
sea  as  an  upper  current,  then  descending  and  returning 


to  land  in  endless  rotation.  At  night  the  direction  of 
the  current  is  changed,  the  desert  air  cooling  more 
rapidly  and  traveling  seaward  as  a  land  breeze.  It  is 
this  constant  circulation  of  desert  and  sea  breezes  which 
makes  the  climate  of  the  coast  of  Southern  California 
so  free  from  extremes,  so  mild,  and  so  beneficial  for 
persons  suffering  from  diseases  which  are  affected  bj' 
climatic  conditions.     For  many  persons  troubled  with 


tJi 


h 


I       M 

Go    o 


Ht  Hi." 


complaints  of  the  throat  and  lungs 
the  greater  dryness  of  the  interior 
valleys  is  found  more  beneficial; 
and  even  the  harsh  aridity  of  the 
desert  may  prove  healthful. 

As  a  pleasure  resort,  the  Hotel 
del  Coronado  is  quite  without  a 
rival.  Here  during  the  height  of 
the  season  are  assembled  nearly  a 
thousand  people  from  all  over  the 
world  bent  on  having  a  good  time. 
There  is  rowing,  sailing  and  fishing,  wheclmg,  horse- 
back rides  and  carriage  drives  —  a  fine  swimming  tank 
and  surf  bathing,  golf  links  and  miles  of  sandy  beach 
to  stroll  upon  and  watch  the  white  combers  come  roll- 
ing in  and  breaking  upon  the  shore.  There  are  concerts 
and  entertainments  in  the  large  theater,  dancing  and 
merrymaking  in  general. 

Among  the  favorite  drives  is  the  one  from  San  Diego 
aroimd  the  beach  to  Point  Loma.  It  is  a  bracing  drive 
of  twelve  miles  out  to  the  abandoned  lighthouse  on  the 
summit  of  the  point,  past  Old  Town,  over  the  hard 
crust  of  marsh  mud  and  finally  around  the  sand  dunes 
to  Ocean  Beach  facing  the  fresh  sea  breeze  and  catching 
the  little  ditty  of  the  shore  lark  by  the  wayside.  From 
Ocean  Beach  the  road  ascends  to  the  ridge  of  Point 
Loma  on  the  summit  of  w^hich  is  located  a  new  well- 
equipped  hotel  and  sanitarium  named  from  its  location. 


^^~ 


%V 


l.^. 


^'W 


Mj 


ly 


A  number  of  theosophists  have  organ- 
ized a  society  for  the  recoverj-  of  the  los 
mysteries   of   antiquitj'   and    have   pur- 
chased a  large   tract  of  land  adjoining 
the  Point  Loma  House,  where  they  pro- 
pose   in    time    to   erect    buildings    and 
establish  a  school.     They  have  certainly 
chosen  a  favorable  spot  upon  which  to 
search  for  the  lost  mysteries,  for  it  com- 
mands everything  in  sight.     The  drive 
leads    on    along    the    backbone   of   the 
jiromontor}-  to  the  old  lighthouse,  from 
•  w4iicli  point  of  vantage  a  glorious  pau- 
'     orania  of  sea  and  .shore  is  presented. 
^    We   are   not   at   a   dizzy  height  above 
the  sea  —  only  a  few  hundred  feet  —  but 
so   aloof   from   all    the  rest  of  the 
Hr  _   world    that    the    outlook    is    most 
iM^    striking  and  impressive.     Away  off 
along  the  western  side  of  the  point 
HoUI•dc^Coro'>^Jo  break    the    tireless    waves    of    the 

ocean,  and  to  the  south  and  south- 
east the  blue  horizon  line  is  obstructed  only  by  the 
three  rocky  points  of  land,  the  Coronado  Islands.  The 
long  curiously  shaped  strip  of  sand,  separating  sea  and 
bay,  reaches  up  from  the  southeast  with  the  great  Hotel 
del  Coronado  upon  its  shore.  San  Diego  lies  spread  out 
upon  its  line  of  hills  with  a  noble  background  of  moun- 
tains—  the  flat-topped  El  Cajon  and  next  it  the  sharp 
peak  of  Cuyamaca.  San  Miguel  shows  its  graceful  sil- 
houette against  the  sky  —  the  peak  so  often  compared 
in  shape  and  location  to  Vesuvius  —  while  away  off  in 
Mexico  looms  the  great  Table  Mountain  through  the 
mist. 

For  those  who  are  moved  by  the  fascination  of  the 
sea  coast  there  is  no  more  serene  and  peaceful  a  spot 


accessible  than  the  little  settlemeut  of  Lu  Jolla  situated 
upon  a  bluff  overlookiug  the  curving  shore  and  broad 
expanse  of  the  ocean.  The  turmoil  of  cities  and  the  stir 
of  fiishiouable  life  seems  very  remote  here  where  the 
waves  beat  incessantly  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  wearing 
away  the  soft  sandstone  into  fantastic  forms,  fashioning 
columns  and  arches  and  caves  upon  the  verge  of  the 
incessantly  laboring  waters.  Standing  upon  the  rocks 
with  the  gull  wheeling  above  and  the  pelican  and  cor- 
morant winging  over  the  sea,  with  the  fresh  salt  air  to 
breathe  and  the  miisic  of  the  breakers  to  hear,  there  is  a 
sense  of  solitude  and  rest  mingled  with  the  tonic  stir  of 
the  elements  which  is  at  once  bracing  and  soothing. 

In  the  crystal  pools  down  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs  may 
be  seen  the  purple  echinoderms  amid  the  seaweed,  and 
starfishes  sprawling  upon  the  rocks.  Here,  amid  the 
dark  recesses  below  the  tide 
the  sun  streams  in,  disclos-  — 1, 

ing  ril)bons  and  streamers  of 
seaweed,  or  perchance  a  fish 
swimming  among  the 
mosses  and  bryozoa  that 
fringe  the  sides. 

In  summer  La  Jolla    is 
crowded  with   visitors    and  i] ,,' 
campers  who  enjoy  the  cool  ^^  — — 
air  and  the  unconventional  ^  '      /   , 
life  by  the  sea.     A  stroll  at      ^oJnl 
evening  along  the   edge   of 


103 


5Ce1-,"trvr|<.n 


the  bluff,  past  the  picturesque  Green  Dragon  cottage 
and  off  toward  the  caves,  with  the  vision  of  the  sun 
dipping  down  into  the  ocean  and  the  long  curving  line 
of  foaming  breakers  on  the  shore,  stands  out  vividly  in 
the  mind  as  an  enchanting  scene. 


104 


FROM    SAN   DIEGO    TO    LOS   ANGELES. 

SAN  DIEGO  and  Sauta  Barbara  are  the  southern- 
most and  northernmost  cities  on  the  Southern 
CaHfornia  coast,  with  I^os  Angeles  nearly  mid- 
way between  them,  but  although  nearly  two  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  apart  the  climatic  conditions  do  not 
vary  as  greatly  as  might  naturally  appear.  At  Point 
Conception,  noted  since  the  days  of  the  early  Spanish 
explorers,  the  coast  line  makes  an  abrupt  bend  to  the 
East,  thus  giving  the  land  a  southern  exposure  to  the 
sea.  The  Sauta  Barbara  Islands  break  the  force  of  wind 
and  storms  upon  the  shore,  and  the  traveler  upon  coast- 
ing steamers,  southward  bound,  is  immediately  im- 
pressed with  the  change  of  climate,  upon  rounding  this 
historic  cape  ;  from  the  cold,  windy  sea  entering  the 
calm  mild  reaches  of  the  Santa  Barbara  channel. 

The  land  journey  from   Sau  Diego  to  Los  Angeles 
over    the    Santa     Fe     aflFords     the     traveler     a     super- 
ficial view  of  a  large  section  of  Southern   California ; 
although  it  is  a  serious  mistake  to  assume  that  such  a 
survey  can  be  other  than  superficial.     It  is  not  infre- 
quently misleading   as   well,  for   the   same   *, 
section  of  country  undergoes  such  incalcu-   wi 
lable   transformations  dependent  upon  the     'Mv'J- 
weather,  season,  and  time  of  day.     A  hot,     /'jlff'^ 
dry  wind  from  the  Santa  Ana  Canyon,  known      KJ/i'kf 
m  consequence  as  a  "  Santa  Ana,"  will,  in  a     *^     '*■ 
few  hours,  make  a  green  fertile  region  look 
withered  and  desolate,  while  a  foggy  night /H; 
following   will    revive    the   vegetation   and  /'J 
alter  the  entire  face  of  the  country.     Again, '!?,«*; 
a  dry  winter  which  the  country  occasionally 


experiences  will  leave  in  early  summer  a  desert  waste  of 
brown  where  during  a  normal  season  luxuriant  fields  of 
grain  would  wave. 

Even  a  typical  j'car  presents  striking  contrasts  in  the 
different   seasons.      Spring   lasts   all   winter   long   with 
alternations  of  sun  and  shower,  with  green   fields  and 
.^    _.  songs  of  birds,  varied  by  an  oc- 

casional cold  snap  as  in  an  East- 
ern spring  and  some  few  dreary 
cold  drizzling  rains.  In  the 
spring  months  there  is  an  awak- 
ening of  fruit  blossoms  and  of 
many  wild  flowers,  while  the 
winter  birds  hurry  to  their 
Northern  homes  and  the  sum- 
mer birds  come  crowding  in 
from  the  south.  In  the  early 
summer  the  mustard  is  in  its 
full  glory  of  gold  throughout 
the  country,  and  the  fields  of 
grain  are  ripening  and  becom- 
ing brown.  The  orange  crop 
of  winter  has  been  followed  by 
the  deciduous  fruits,  and  the 
old  birds  are  leading  their  bauds  of  young  from  tree  to 
tree,  some  of  them  even  venturing  to  sample  the  loquats 
and  apricots  as  the}'  pass.  The  dust  begins  to  fl}'  in  the 
high  road  with  the  passing  of  a  team,  and  the  hills 
gradually  become  robed  in  brown  and  purple.  Autumn 
comes  with  southward  flocking  birds  and  flying  dust, 
with  sere  weeds  and  soft  hues  of  brown  and  yellow, 
relieved  bj'  refreshing  patches  of  green  in  an  irrigated 
valley  or  along  the  arro3-os  where  the  willows  grow. 
Then  follow  the  welcome  showers,  and  the  gradual 
emergence  of  another  spring. 

Stepping  upon  either  of  the  two  day  trains  of  the 


Santa  Fe  at  San  Diego  for  Los  Angeles,  we  skirt  the 
shore  of  the  bay  to  Old  Town,  having  a  parting  view 
of  the  bold  line  of  Point  Loma  and  off  on  the  land  side 
a  glimpse  of  the  historic  old  settlement  and  the  Mission 
Valley.  For  a  few  miles  farther  the  road  follows  along 
the  line  of  False  Bay,  and  then  strikes  boldly  across  the 
country  to  avoid  the  detour  which  the  coast  line  makes 
off  toward  La  Jolla. 

After  traversing  some  miles  of  inland  country,  uncul- 
tivated for  the  most  part,  and,  with  the  exception  of  an 
occasional  pocket  where  a  clump  of  sycamores  or  live 
oaks  grow,  devoid  of  trees  or  shrubbery,  the  track  again 
approaches  the  coast,  which  is  followed  more  or  less 
closel}'  for  the  next  sixty  miles.  At  times  we  hurry 
along  close  to  the  sandy  beach,  where  the  blue  ocean 
stretches  away  to  the  horizon  line,  and  where  the  white 
dazzling  combers  come  tumbling  in  on  the  shore  in 
unending  succession.  Again,  the  track  lies  some  dis- 
tance away  from  the  shore  upon  more 
elevated  land,  and  we  notice  strange, 
fantastic  formations  cut  by  the  water  in 
the  soft  sandstone  banks  on  the  margin 
of  the  sea.  Inland  the  country  looks 
green  or  barren  according  to  season, 
but  now  and  then  a  break  in  the  line  of 
hills  indicates  a  stream  emptying  into 
the  sea,  and  here  we  may  count  on  find- 
ing some  fine  gnarled  old  sjxamores. 


-^       Jlfe /\  '. 


107 


•^/'/?<~4L, 


Lv.ril.j 


nc«-i>  Vt- 


Oceanside  is  the  first  stop- 
ping point  of  consequence, 
a  distributing  and  commer- 
cial center  for  an  iuterest- 
ITS;"  ing   interior   district.     This 
^^^■7}^/^..>e^  is  the  end  of  the  Escondido 
;__  branch  of  the  railroad  and 

also  of  the  Fallbrook  line.  Escondido  is  the  busiest 
interior  town  of  San  Diego  County,  an  agricultural  and 
mining  depot  for  an  extensive  and  prosperous  country. 
It  is  from  Oceanside  also  that  the  carriage  road  leads  to 
San  Luis  Rey,  Pala  and  the  fascinating  Indian  country 
beyond. 

The  train,  however,  gives  time  for  but  a  glance  at 
Oceanside  and  a  moment  for  reflection  on  the  history  of 
other  days  and  other  races  written  all  over  the  face  of 
the  country,  when  we  are  whisked  on  to  San  Juan,  the 
last  point  on  the  coast.  It  was  from  a  bluff  here  that 
Dana  tells  of  sailing  hides  down  upon  the  beach  below, 
although  I  confess  to  have  been  puzzled  to  understand 
why  they  were  not  taken  down  the  arroyo  to  the  water's 
edge  just  where  the  railroad  now  runs  to  Capistrano. 

Dear  old  Capistrano  —  it  is  not  everj'one  who  is 
impressed  by  its  charm.  A  lad}'  informed  me  that  she 
went  there  with  a  party  and  was  obliged  to  sta}-  all  da}- 
although  she  had  exhausted  the  place  in  the  first  hour. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  spent  a  month  there  and  wished  I 
might  have  remained  at  least  six.  So  much  for  the 
point  of  view!    But  it 


is  a  quiet,  fascinating  .•;{..*^ 
little    mongrel    town  r~-- 
full  of  the  atmosphere    Sr 
of    romance    and    the 
poetry   of  a    pastoral     -    ,_, 
people   linked   by   all  _;j^^ 
the  ties  of  inheritance         ' 


:^^ 


108 


and  association  with  tlu>  history  of  bj'gonc  days.  The 
old  sacristan  is  the  brother  of  a  mission  soldier  of  sixty 
years  ago.  In  the  veins  of  its  inhabitants  flows  the 
blood  of  mission  soldiers  and  mission  Indians.  Here 
are  pedigrees  worth  disentangling,  and  stories  enough 
to  stock  a  library.  From  the  train,  however,  the  mis- 
sion looks  like  little  more  than  a  forlorn  adobe  ruin,  and 
man)'  a  traveler  looks  up  from  his  book  for  a  moment  in 
passing  and  thinks  he  has  seen  it. 

About  Capistrano  and  through  much  of  the  district 
on  to  Los  Angeles   are   beautiful    orchards  of  English 


walnuts.  There  is  something  very  cool  and  restful 
ai)out  these  groves  of  trees,  planted  far  apart,  with  their 
clean,  smooth  bark  and  ample  spread  of  foliage.  There 
is  also  much  fine  grazing  land  where  herds  of  cattle 
range  over  the  meadows  and  hills,  and  just  beyond 
Capistrano  is  a  magnificent  grove  of  old  sycamores  bent 
into  fantastic  shapes  with  their  huge  light  trunks  and 
sprawling  limbs. 

We  pass  El  Toro  and  presently  reach  vSanta  Ana,  the 
largest  town  of  Orange  County.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  a 
fine  fruit  country  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  oranges, 
walnuts,  olives  and   loquats,  and   its  streets  present  an 


j)cf,«r  .r  c.|,,st;^oo 


appearance  of  animation  and 
thrift.  The  main  business 
streets  are  paved  with  asphalt, 
and  the  stores  that  line  the 
way  are  substantially  built  of 
brick.  In  the  residence  district 
are  numerous  homes  nearly  con-  \i, 
cealed  from  view  by  the  profu-/' 
sion  of  palms  and  flowers. 
Here,  as  in  other  j^arden  spots, 
the  Eastern  visitor  is  surprised 
to  see  great  hedges  of  calla 
lilies  bordering  the  way,  shoot- 
ing their  fine  broad  leaves  and  pure  golden-centered 
chalices  many  feet  into  the  air.  vStately  rows  of  cotton- 
woods  line  the  way,  and  the  black-headed  grosbeak 
sounds  his  cheery  note  from  the  walnut  orchards.  The 
residents  of  Santa  Ana  are  favored  with  a  little  seaside 
resort  for  the  summer  months  at  Newport,  which  is  but 
a  few  miles  distant. 

Orange  is  only  two  miles  on  our  way  beyond  Santa 
Ana  and  in  the  same  fertile  vallej'  district.  It  is  the 
junction  of  a  branch  of  the  railroad  which  goes  to  San 
Bernardino,  following  up  the  Santa  Ana  Valley,  with  its 
winding  line  of  willows  between  the  mountains.  On 
this  branch  road  are  some  lovely  fruit  sections  about 
Olive  and  Yorba,  where  the  Mexican  flavor  is  still  very 
pronounced  among  the  inhalntants ;  and  farther  on,  at 
Corona,  an  extensive  and  beautiful  orange  section  lying 

upon  the  gently  rising 
mesa  land  overlooking  a 
wonderful  expanse  of  val- 
ley. Beyond  Corona  are 
Riverside  and  C  o  1 1  o  n  , 
and  then  San  Bernardino 
which  is  the  junction  of 


many  lines  penetrating  Southern  California  like  the 
spokes  of  a  wheel. 

Continuing  on  the  main  line  from  San  Diego  to  Los 
Angeles,  we  pass  the  staid  little  town  of  Anaheim,  orig- 
inally settled  by  a  colony  of  Ger- 
mans. A  colony  of  distinguished 
Poles  at  one  time  undertook  to  ex- 
periment in  agriculture  here,  but 
found  that  even  in  California  fruit- 
growing could  not  be  made  a  suc- 
cess without  experience  and  drudg- 
ery. At  least  two  members  of  this 
colony,  which  made  a  noble  strug- 
gle here  before  it  failed,  have  since 

won  world-wide  distinction  in  other  vocations  than  the 
pastoral  ones  which  brought  them  here  —  Madame  Mod- 
jeska  and  Henrj'k  Sienkiewicz.  Madame  Modjeska, 
however,  became  so  attached  to  the  country  that  she 
has  since  purchased  a  fine  large  ranch  some  miles  inland 
from  the  railroad,  where  she  spends  much  of  her  time 
when  not  on  the  stage. 

During  the  hour  of  travel  from  Orange  to  Los 
Angeles,  several  thriving  little  towns  are  passed  which 
are  devoted  to  fruit  culture  and  walnut  growing,  while 
in  the  intervening  country  are  grazing  lands  for  stock 
and  fields  of  grain.  At  La  Mirada  a  model  orange 
orchard  is  under  cultivation,  covering  several  hundred 
acres  and  with  a  picturesque  tiled-roof  mission  home  set 
in  the  midst  of  the  grove.  The  stations  here  and  at 
Capistrano  are  especially  appropriate  in  design,  follow- 
ing the  mission  architecture  in  a  very  effective  manner. 
Fullerton  is  next  passed  —  a  thriving  fruit  and  grain 
center  —  and  from  Santa  Fe  Springs,  a  little  farther  on, 
may  be  had  a  very  pretty  view  of  Whittier  spread  out 
upon  the  foothills  above. 

Evidences  of   the   proximity   of  a    large  city   soon 


appear  as  the  siren  whistle  announces  our  approach  to 
Los  Angeles.  The  city,  set  upon  its  hills  and  spreading 
over  the  adjacent  valley,  lifts  its  toviers,  chimneys 
and  spires  high  above  us,  and  we  are  soon  standing 
before  the  Santa  Fe  depot. 


LOS   ANGELES. 

ON  the  fourth  of  September,  1781,  a  party  of  twelve 
mission  soldiers,  together  with  their  families, 
amounting  in  all  to  forty-six  persons,  took  pos- 
session, under  direction  of  the  Governor  of  California, 
then  located  at  San  Gabriel  Mission,  of  a  tract  of  land 
for  the  purpose  of  forming  the  Pueblo  de  la  Reina  de  los 
Angeles.  The  government  furnished  them  with  such 
necessities  for  farm  life  as  horses  and  cattle,  tools  and 
agricultural  implements  of  a  rude  character.  The  city 
was  laid  out  around  a  plaza  and  land  for  homes  and 
cultivation  was  allotted  to  the  heads  of  families,  to  be 
retained  so  long  as  they  were  kept  improved  and  in  good 
repair. 

Nine  years  after  the  formation  of  the  pueblo,  when 
the  first  census  was  taken,  the  town  consisted  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fort3'-one  persons,  a  large  proportion  of  whom 
were  Spanish-Americans  and  mulattos,  while  fifty  years 
from  the  date  of  organization  the  population  numbered 
but  seven  hundred  and  seventy. 

Standing  today  upon  one  of  the  city's  heights  and 
overlooking  the  miles  of  hill  and  valley  from  which  rise 
the  public  and  private  buildings  of  a  community  of  over 
a  hundred  thousand  souls,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  the 
change  which  fifty,  or  indeed  which  thirty  years  has 
wrought.  The  towers  of  the  city  hall  and  courthouse 
rise  imposingly  above  the  intricate  maze  of  roof  tops, 
church  spires,  chimneys  and  telegraph  poles,  while 
below  all  is  throbbing  the 
pulse  of  a  great  city,  with  ,.   r* 

the  rumble  of  electric 


cars,  the  rmg  of  horses'   /^^^if,3'^*1?  '|''->''''i^   1. 


^#,fj|fi^^* 


\ 


'J^yMS^ 


feet  ou  the  asphalt  pavement,  and  the  far- 
away call  of  the  newsboy,  as  one  hears  in 
country  districts  the  distant  crowing  of  a 
cock. 

Down  on  the  business  streets,  where  peopK' 
jostle  one  another  in  the  rush  of  modern  life, 
are  many  fine  blocks  of  stores  and  offices  — 
great  steel-framed  structures  of  terra  cotta 
and  pressed  brick,  well  proportioned  and 
simply  and  tastefully  ornamented.  The  old 
buildings  of  the  city  of  ten  and  twenty  years  ago  are 
rapidly  giving  way  to  the  new,  and  each  day's  toil  con- 
tributes to  the  sightliness  and  permanence  of  a  modern 
American  city  modeled  after  the  most  approved  ideas  of 
New  York  and  Chicago. 

Among  the  stores  of  Los  Angeles  the  visitor  is  partic- 
ularly impressed  by  the  fine  grocery  houses,  where  the 
neatness,  taste  and  even  elegance  of  the  display  of  food 
supplies  is  not  unlike  a  fashionable  confectioner's  in 
style.  Hotels  and  boarding  houses  are  numerous  all 
over  the  city,  and  the  best  of  them  leave  nothing  to  be 
desired  in  equipment  and  service.  Accommodations  may 
be  secured  here  in  every  respect  equal  to  the  best  hotels 
of  the  East.  The  furnishings  and  appointments  are 
modern  and  nothing  is  omitted  that  /^ 

would  contribute  to  the  comfort  and  .  "  " 

happiness   of  the   guests.     Dinners  v<; 


are  served  in  rooms  glittering  with 
lights  and  gay  with  a  profusion  of 
roses,    with    girls    in    white   flitting 
about  in  attendance,  with  the  light 
music  of  a  stringed  orchestra 
giving  zest  to  the  conversa- 
tion, and  with  an  array  of  "^^.Ti,- 
viands  that  would  please  the  "  J^ ". 
most  fastidious  epicure.  )'.  i 


t 


w  IU»^_- 


T'VaA--^.^ 


iCXoik 


The  charm  of  Los  Angeles  lies  in  its  combination  of 
hills  and  level  reaches,  of  massive  business  blocks,  and, 
but  a  few  squares  removed,  residences  set  in  the  midst 
of  gardens  where  tropical  plants  and  brilliant  flowers 
thrive.  The  beautiful  Sierra  Madre  Mountains  form  an 
ever-present  background  for  the  city,  blue  and  jagged 
in   outline,   with   summits   of  . 

snow    during   the    winter  ^ 

months.  _  Sr. 

I  know  of  no  city  with  a 
more  beautiful  residence  dis- 
trict than  Adams  street  and 
its  surroundings.  It  is  a  fine 
broad  avenue  shaded  by  large 
graceful  pepper  trees,  with 
here  and  there  imposing 
groups  of  eucalyptus  lifting 
their  dark  swaying  branches 
aloft  into  the  clear  air  of  a 
cloudless  sky.  The  sightly  '^'"  -^'""'^ 
houses  are  set  back  from  the  street  with  ample  reach 
of  lawn  and  garden  round  about,  sometimes  almost 
concealing  them  from  view  in  the  wealth  of  plant  life 
which  is  -SO  charming  a  feature  of  this  portion  of  the 
city. 

Westlake  Park  is  another  favored  residence  dis- 
trict, with  its  little  silver  lake  surrounded  bj'  flowers, 
shrubs  and  trees,  and  with  costly  homes  upon  the 
hills  sloping  down  to  its  shore.  There  are  many 
other  parks  about  the  city  and  its  environs,  includ- 
ing a  well-improved  square  near  the  center  of  town, 
known  as  Central  Park,  and 
I    #  .^  ;^  the    East    Side    Park,    which, 

^^-  p'-'  although   not  very   large,   eon- 

frj^    '       ,  tains    an    attractive    la.ke    and 

many  pleasant  walks.     Elysian 


/ 


--_    (     V- 


Park  occupies  a  magnificent 
site,  and  when  improved  prom- 
ises to  become  one  of  the  great 
parks  of  the  countr}^  while  a 
public-spirited  citizen  has  pre- 
sented to  the  city  a  tract  of 
three  thousand  acres,  situated 
a  mile  north  of  town,  and  ad- 
mirably located  for  use  as  a 
botanical    experiment    station. 

There  are  other  smaller  parks  about  town  which  will 
one  day  be  connected  into  one  great  system  by  a  line  of 
boulevards.  The  Plaza  is  of  special  interest  from  the 
historic  associations  centering  there.  Facing  it  on  the 
west  is  the  old  Spanish  church  built  during  the  mission 
days,  and  on  the  east  and  north  many  old  adobes  which 
have  been  made  over  for  the  occupanc}-  of  the  Chinese. 
These  people  have  an  individuality  which  impresses 
itself  at  once  upon  all  their  surroundings.  It  may  be 
only  a  vertical  sign  in  Chinese  characters,  or  a  paper 
lantern  hung  over  a  doorway  that  gives  the  oriental 
color  to  a  neighborhood,  but  it  is  unmistakable.     In  the  n  -  -»- 

Chinese  quarter  of  Los  Angeles  are  joss  houses  resplen-  J<\  |  ,  [  ( 
dent  with  colors  and  carvings  in  honor  of  their  gods,  ^^^  ^i^  \^- 
restaurants  where  tea  and  the  daintiest  of  Chinese  viands 
are  served  —  preserved  ginger  and  salted  almonds  and 
cakes  —  and  theaters  where  the  gaily  bedizened  actors 
pipe  their  high-pitched  monotonous  ditties,  accompanied 
Vjy  the  clash  of  cymbals  and  the  shrill  squeak  of  their 
violins.  In  the  narrow  alleys  crowds  of  Chinamen 
scuffle  along  or  lounge  by  their  doorwaj^s,  and  little 
women,  bedecked  in  bright  silks  and  beads,  often  accom- 
panied by  their  quaint  little  children  in  parti-colored 
attire,  mingle  with  the  throng. 

It  is  but  a  few  blocks  from  here  to  the  Wilcox,  Stim- 
son  and  Bradbury  buildings — massive  fireproof  structures 


W.-TU.  ■7l>rk 


■s.     V 


of  the  most  approved  modern  design,  situated  in  the 
very  heart  of  a  great  city  with  hurrying  crowds  passing 
and  repassing  in  endless  procession.  A  strange  mingling 
this  of  the  traditions  and  types  of  Cathaj'  close  upon  the 
confines  of  the  business  heart  of  a  modern  American  city, 
virile  with  the  will  and  energy  so  characteristic  of  the 
modern  centers  of  the  West. 

The  astonishing  growth  of  this  city  during  the  past 
ten  years,  which  had  its  inception  some  time  before  in 
the  completion  of  the  Santa 
Fe  as  a  new  competitive  trans- 
continental road,  is  an  indi- 
cation of  the  great  resources 
_  ""       of  the  region;   for,  despite  the 

^,    ;i,i>f   '    I    '^-^       boom   and    the   disastrous  col- 

■i^sr^lL '^-^t^^^'^^-Ti.:^^^^^  lapse    which    followed    it,    Los 
-"^""^  ■-  '  Angeles  has  pursued  the  even 

tenor  of  her  way,  reaching  out 
into  the  surrounding  country,  replacing  the  antiquated 
buildings  with  modern  ones,  extending  her  railroad  lines 
and  beautifying  her  streets  and  parks.  In  1880  the 
population  of  the  city  was  11,000,  while  in  1900  the  cen- 
sus showed  a  total  of  102,479  inhabitants.  These  figures 
speak  more  eloquently  than  words  of  the  growth  of 
Southern  California,  especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
this  increase  does  not  imply  a  corre- 
sponding reduction  in  the  outlying 
districts.  On  the  contrary,  such 
places  as  Pasadena  and  Redlauds 
have  grown  even   more  rapidly   in 


proportion  to  their  size,  and  the 
rate  of  iucrease  in  Los  Angeles  is 
but  an  index  of  the  rapid  settle- 
ment of  the  fruit  districts  which 
surround  it. 

An  industry  which  has  added 
to  the  resources  of  Los  Angeles 
during  the  past  few  years  has  been  the  development  of 
the  oil  wells  upon  some  of  the  hills  within  the  city 
limits.  A  plentiful  flow  of  oil,  sufficiently  refined  for 
use  as  fuel,  has  been  obtained  from  numberless  wells 
in  this  district,  the  tall  derricks  for  drilling  the  holes 
filling  every  available  space  upon  the  land  for  blocks 
around. 

San  Pedro,  a  seacoast  town  devoted  to  the  fishing 
and  shipping  industries,   is  the  official  harbor  for  the 


city,  although  vessels  also  land  at  Santa  Monica  and 
Redondo  Beach.  Santa  Monica  is  a  pleasant  little  town 
by  the  sea,  with  an  excellent  hotel  and  every  facility  for 
surf  bathing,  boating  and  fishing.  The  shore  line  makes 
a  graceful  sweep  at  this  point,  with  a  sandy  beach 
backed  by  cliffs  of  sandstone  sculptured  by  the  rain  and 
surmounted  by  groves  of  trees.  Farther  up  the  beach  to 
the  northwest  the  mountains  rise  abruptly  from  the  t. 
sfea  in'  a  graceful  and  imposing  line  One  of  the  "O-v 
National  Soldiers'  Homes  is  situ- 
ated near  Santa  Monica,  and  the 
town  itself  extends  over  a  large 
tract  of  land  with  a  busy  com- 


119 


A  LoVA^Jc^  TIo 


mercial  street  and  many  attractive  homes.  In  addition 
to  the  railroad  lines  connecting  it  with  Los  Angeles 
there  is  an  electric  car  system  similar  to  the  one  between 
Pasadena  and  the  city. 

Redondo  Beach  is  also  a  favorite  seaside  resort,  with 
excellent  hotel  accommodations  and  all  the  pleasures  of 
the  sea  at  hand.  During  the  summer  months  it  is 
crowded  with  city  people  who  come  here  to  enjoy  the 
bracing  sea,  breezes  and  the  plunge  in  the  surf  or  stroll 
upon  the  beach. 

Had  the  site  of  Los  Angeles  been  chosen  with  the 
special  purpose  of  accommodating  the  pleasure  seeker  it 
could  not  have  been  more  conveniently  located,  situated 
as  it  is  about  midway  between  the  seacoast  resorts  on  the 
one  hand  and  the  mountain  resorts  on  the  other,  and 
nearly  midway  between  San  Diego  and  Santa  Barbara. 
It  is  the  great  focusing  point  for  the  activities  of  the 
Southwest,  which 
out  in  all  direction;^ 
this  busy   mart. 


r^..^'- 


SANTA   BARBARA. 

WHO  does  not  know  of  lovelj'  Santa  Barbara 
by  the  sea,  nestled  in  close  to  the  range  of 
lofty  mountains,  with  its  fine  old  mission 
overlooking  the  town,  its  modern  stores  jostling  against 
the  quaint  old  adobes  and  its  atmosphere  of  Boston  cul- 
ture overlapping  the  dolce  far  7iie7ite  of  the  Mexican  ?  It 
is  one  of  those  places  which  people  go  to  visit  and 
conclude  not  to  leave.  It  is  not  a  thriving,  commercial 
center  nor  a  bustling  metropolis,  but  many  people  of 
refinement  and  taste  have  made  their  homes  within  its 
precincts  and  it  is  constantly  attracting  to  itself  more  of 
the  same  sort — ^  people  who  love  flowers  and  music,  who 
read  and  think.  There  is  an  excellent  hotel,  the  Arling- 
ton, where  visitors  can  find  luxury 
and  comfort  enough  to  suit  the 
most  fastidious. 

A  few  miles  from  town  is  Monte- 
cito,  a  rambling  settlement  of  fine 
estates  and  beautiful  homes,  reach- 
ing from  the  sea  far  back  into  tlu 
foothills.  About  many  of  thesi 
homes  the  natural  setting  of  live 
oaks  and  rocks,  of  tangled  thickets 
which  delight  the  birds,  and  open 
fields  of  clover  have  been  preserved. 


while  other  residences  are  .set  in  tropical  gardens  of  rare 
beaut)'.  There  are  a  number  of  fine  orange  groves  and 
vineyards  here,  but  many  of  the  residents  of  Montecito 
seem  to  live,  like  the  flowers,  on  sun.shine  and  fresh  air. 
On  a  memorable  evening  in  the  month  of  June,  I 
stood  on  the  pier  awaiting  the  boat  for  San  Francisco. 
The  full  moon  came  gliding  up  out  of  the  water  in  the 
east,  and  as  it  stood  just  upon  the  edge  of  the  tide  the 
steamer  floated  across  its  shield  of  silver  light.  Swing- 
ing around,  the  great,  black  vessel  drifted  up  to  the 
wharf,  its  red  and  green  lights  reflected  in  rippling  lines 
in  the  water,  and  from  its  deck  the  voices  of  a  company 
of  volunteers  for  the  war  with  Spain,  singing  old  home 
melodies,  floated  upon  the  still  night  air.  How  little 
could  the  Spanish  fathers  of  a  century  ago  who  named 
the  mission  and  town  after  their  patron  saint  of  war 
have  prophesied  such  a  scene  as  this  ! 


•>-'    L 


m  Jl  *  < 


^_^  THE    MISSIONS. 

^jHE  founding  and  developing  of  the  mis- 
^   sions  of  California  constitutes  an  episode 
unique  in  history.     The  story  has  been 
often  related,  but  a  brief  account  cannot 
be  omitted  in  a  sketch  of  Southern  Cali- 
:— ;.  fornia.     To  understand  the  zeal  of  these 
'^"'^men  and  the  wonders  which   they  per- 
formed, it  is  necessary  to  realize  their  point 
y /'  of  view  on  the  great  questions  of  life,  and  this, 

if^  in  an  age  of  skepticism,  is  not  easy.     It  is  hard 

1       for  us  to  understand  that  the  mainspring  of  men's  action 
,       could  have  been  a  belief,  bitterly  realistic,  that  the  souls 
I       of  all   human    beings   not  baptized    into    the    Catholic 
^.  church  were   certain  to  suffer  the  eternal   torments  of 
hell  punishment.    To  men  of  gentle  and  refined  natures, 
the  pity  aroused  by  this  belief  stimulated  them  to  almost 
superhuman  effort,  and  enabled  them  to  consecrate  their 
lives  to  endless  toil  and  pain  in  behalf  of  the  savages 
thus  doomed  by  divine  mandate. 

It  was  this  conviction  which  enabled  Father  Junipero 
Serra,  an  old  man  with  a  painful  sore  of  years'  persist- 
ence upon  his  leg,  to  walk  with  trembling  steps  from 
San  Diego  to  Monterey,  and  to  weep  because  he  could 
do  so  little  for  his  people.  To  illustrate  the  torments  of 
hell  he  would,  during  his  sermons,  pound  his  breast 
with  a  stone  until  the  blood  streamed  from  the  wounds. 
To  his  dying  day  he  would  relate,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
the  incident  of  the  first  Indian  baby  he  attempted  to 
baptize.  The  mother  had  consented  to  the  ceremony  and 
stood  before  him  with  her  child.  Suddenly,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  sprinkle  the  water  in  the  baby's  face,  she 


123 


turned  and  fled,  panic-stricken.  He 
always  felt  that  some  uuworthiuess  of 
his  was  responsible  for  the  loss  of  this 
infant's  soul. 

When  the  news  of  the  founding  of 
~  Monterc}'  Mission  reached  Mexico  and 
Spain,  the  people  were  filled  with  joy 
and  a  festival  was  held  in  honor  of  the 
event,  although  all  that  had  been  accom- 
■>  plished  was  the  erection  of  a  rude  hut  of 
thatch,  with  a  cross  beside  it  and  the 
mission  bell  suspended  in  a  tree.  But 
it  meant  to  them  the  salvation  of  count- 
less Indian  souls  during  the  years  to 
come,  and  a  new  land  brought  under  the 
dominion  of  the  King  of  Spain. 
Such  was  the  temper  and  zeal  of  the  people  who 
accomplished  these  wonders  in  the  wilderness,  remark- 
able alike  for  their  original  singleness  of  purpose  and 
lofty  aim,  and  for  the  utter  lack  of  result  from  their 
labor  upon  the  ultimate  destiny-  of  the  land  in  which 
they  toiled.  But  their  labors,  although  not  productive 
of  permanent  result  in  the  historical  sequence  of  events, 
cannot  fail  to  be  significant  in  example  and  inspiration  ; 
for,  however  narrow  and  bigoted  their  view  of  life  may 
have  been,  the  unselfish  devotion  and  purity  of  purpose, 
coupled  with  great  personal  suffering  and  sorrow,  is  a 
lesson  which  will  ever  be  fraught  with  meaning  as  long 
as  men  suffer  and  3'earn  for  better  things. 

Father  Serra  and  his  three  fellow-toilers  in  the  work 
of  establishing  the  missions,  were  life-long  friends,  and 
had  been  associated  from  youth  in  the  order  of  Saint 
Francis.  In  middle  life  they  were  sent  together  to  the 
College  of  San  Fernando  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  and 
after  much  persuasion  received  permission  from  the 
home  authorities  to  attempt  the  founding  of  a  chain  of 


missious  iu  Alta  California.  The  Jesuits  of  Lower  Cali- 
fornia had  just  been  replaced  by  Franciscans,  and  the 
time  seemed  ripe  for  an  attempt  at  gaining  a  foothold  to 
the  north.  The  countrj'  was  an  unexplored  wilderness, 
except  that  over  a  century  before  Vizcaino  had  discov- 
ered the  bays  of  San  Diego  and  Monterey,  and  had  told 
of  the  hosts  of  savages  living  in  the  land. 

Accordingly,  in   1769,  an  expedition  left  Mexico  for 
the  unknown  land,  divided  into  two  detachments,  one 


-^sSS;-- 


going  by  land  and  driving  stock  for  the  mission  estab- 
lishments, and  the  other  embarking  upon  the  sea  in  two 
vessels,  one  of  which  was  lost  before  reaching  San 
Diego.  The  plan  called^  for  the  establishment  of  a  mis- 
sion at  San  Diego,  another  at  Monterey,  and  a  third  at  a 
point  to  be  chosen  midwaj-  between  the  two.  I  would 
that  I  could  dwell  upon  the  trials  and  disappointments 
of  the  first  few  years  in  this  strange  land  —  of  the  per- 
ils from  unfriendh'  Indians,  the  danger  of  starvation, 
the  wanderings  without  map  or  guide  in  search  of  Mon- 
terey, but  for  all  this  the  reader  must  be  referred 
to  more  detailed  narratives. 

Then  followed  the  labor  of  building  churches 
and   cloisters,    with    no   materials   at 
hand  and  with  only  the  rudest  of  tools, 
with   unskilled    workmen   and    often 


12i«,ll    lowet" 


rf  m .m  ,   '  ^ 


JH-^-'^^ 


»^'To. 


;r^iri 


•Af^- 


\v<! 


t.?::^. 


surrounded  bj'  savages  more  or  less  hostile  in  their  atti- 
tude. The  site  chosen  was  usually  upon  a  commanding 
point  iu  a  valley  a  few  miles  inland  from  the  sea,  where 
water  was  at  hand  to  irrigate  their  gardens  and  orchards, 
and  where  the  surrounding  country  was  in  view  to 
guard  against  surprise  by  the  Indians.  Timber  for  the 
missions  had  to  be  transported  from  the  pine  forests 
high  up  in  the  mountains,  and  at  a  distance  of  from 
thirty  to  sixty  miles  from  the  building  sites.  It  is 
related  that  when  a  tree  was  felled  and  dressed  in  the 
mountains  it  was  put  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  line  of 
Indians,  and  blessed  by  the  padre  in  charge  of  the  work. 
From  this  time  it  never  touched  the  ground  until  it 
reached  the  mission  site,  being  passed  from  one  relay  of 
Indians  to  another,  and  carried  thus  through  a  wilder- 
ness, with  but  the  roughest  of  trails  leading  from  place 
to  place.  Bricks  were  baked  on  the  spot,  as  well  as 
floor  and  roof  tiles,  while  sun-dried  bricks  of  adobe 
served  for  many  of  the  walls.  The  churches,  however, 
were  built  of  stone  quarried  out  of  the  neighboring  hills 
and  united  with  cement. 

With  such  difficulties  to  overcome,  it  would  not  have 
been  surprising  had  the  resvilting  structures  been  uncouth 
and  clumsy  in  effect,  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  form 
today,  ruined  as  they  are,  some  of  the  most  noteworthy 
examples  of  architecture  in  America.  It  is  the  spirit  of 
absolute  sincerity,  of  immediate  contact  with  nature,  of 
loving  interest  in  the  work,  which  characterizes  them. 
They  are  literally  hewn  out  of  the  surrounding  land  by 
the  pious  zeal  of  their  makers.  There  is  a  softness  and 
harmony  about  the  lines  which  shows  the  work  of  hands 
instead  of  machines,  and  the  dull  red  tiles  and  soft 
terra  cotta  and  buff  walls  of  stone  are  beautifully  har- 
monious in  color.  Even  the  whitewashed 
walls  of  plaster  are  effective  with  the  ,y 
long,  cool  shadows  of  the  arches  upon  --i: 


1 


127 


?J..ll     I. 


them,  showing  between  the  green  of  the  garden  or 
orchard. 

Most  of  the  missions  were  erected  around  a  large  rec- 
tangular court  or  quadrangle,  the  rooms  being  sur- 
rounded by  a  corridor  supported  by  massive  arches  and 
roofed  with  tiles.  At  one  corner  of  the  quadrangle  stood 
the  church,  built  with  massive  walls,  five  feet  or  more 
in  thickness,  and  dimly  lighted  by  square  windows  high 
up  on  the  sides.  The  interior  of  these  buildings  is  dark, 
gloomy  and  forbidding,  but  well  calculated  to  inspire 
the  worshipers  with  awe.  The  interior  decorations, 
although  barbaric  in  feeling,  are  often  beautiful  and  soft 
in  color. 

Father  Serra  did  not  live  to  see  the  full  realization  of 


.'!.. 


his  hopes  and  plans,  but  the  seed  had  been  sown  ere  his 
death.  Fifty  years  from  the  date  of  the  establishment 
of  the  first  mission,  a  chain  of  twenty-one  establish- 
ments dotted  the  coast  valleys,  each  within  an  easy  day's 
journey  of  the  next.  There  were  on  an  average  about  a 
thousand  Indians  living  permanently  at  each  mission, 
and  many  thousands  of  cattle,  horses  and  sheep  roamed 
over  the  intervening  country.  These  Indians  were 
devout  Catholics,  conversing  in  the  Spanish  tongue,  liv- 
ing under  a  strict  ecclesiastical  regime  and  carrying  on 
faithfully  the  manifold  occupations  imposed  upon  them. 
From  the  very  inception  of  the  mission  movement, 
however,  it  was  intended  that  the  Indians  should  become 


self-sustaiuing,  aud,  when  finally  converted  and  civil- 
ized, left  to  their  own  devices.  With  the  growth  of 
power  and  temporal  possessions,  the  Franciscans  became 
more  worldly  as  a  class.  They  did  not  wish  to  relinquish 
the  authority  won  at  cost  of  so  great  labor,  and  subse- 
quent events  proved  that  it  would  have  been  far  better 
for  the  Indians  had  they  been  left  in  power.   But  the  pol- 


130 


ilicians  of  Mexico  finallj'   sue-      ff  »  '       1  1   i'    ' 

ceeded  in  passing  the  order  of      ]\     .    ' ,   ^   ^^     \      I   ''  I      ]       , 
secularization  which  placed  the     /  ,    '       -     a     |t,  -J^     »* 


missions  ill  the  hands  of  admin- 
istrators to  become  the  prey 
alike  of  politicians  and  the  j^eo- 

ple.       What  the  hand  of  man  T""?**^!'!     i  ■i■^'-^i^v:>,^>■ii*JCi■ 
finally  spared  has  since  been  at       '        '  ||||  ^ ,  >^^^i],:MiihA<iAiii. 
the  mercy  of  the  elements  and 
many   of   the  beautiful   structures   have    become   mere 
crumbling  heaps  of  ruin. 

The  Landmarks  Club,  organized  and  carried  on  largely 
by  the  enthusiasm  of  Charles  F.  Lummis,  has  already 
done  much  toward  preserving  what  is  left  of  the  mis- 
sions. They  have  restored  a  large  part  of  San  Juan 
Capistrano,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  extensive  ruins 
in  America,  the  work  having  been  accomplished  at  sur- 
prisingly small  cost  under  the  careful  direction  of  Judge 
Richard  Egan,  and  have  recently  undertaken  a  similar 
labor  upon  San  Fernando.  Lack  of  sufficient  funds 
alone  prevents  them  from  protecting  what  is  left  of  all 
the  other  missions,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  defi- 
ciency will  be  supplied  ere  long. 

San  Luis  Rey  has  been  restored  in  part  by  the  Fran- 
ciscans under  the  direction  of  Father  O'Keefe,  and  it  is 
now  used  as  a  school  for  the  education  of  priests  who  are 
to  serve  in  Mexico,  the  government  of  our  neighboring 
republic  not  tolerating  such  schools  in  its  midst.  When 
I  first  visited  this  mission  the  priests  were  holding  an 
afternoon  service.  I  stepped  inside  from  the  warm, 
sunny  day  into  the  chill,  vault-like  church,  and  in  the 
dimly  lighted  place  saw  one  Mexican  woman  with  her 
black  shawl  drawn  over  her  head,  kneeling  upon  a  mat 
before  the  altar,  her  little  child  beside  her.  They  were 
the  only  worshipers  in  view,  but  the  voices  of  the 
priests  in  monotonous  refrain  reverberated  through  the  ^^^ 


empty  chamber.  I  seemed  transported  into  another 
land  and  another  century,  and  a  feeling  of  awe  and 
wonder  took  possession  of  me.  It  seemed  unreal, 
uncanny,  und  I  could  almost  fancy  the  kneeling  mother 
and  child  wCi  •  but  ghosts,  and  the  droning  chant  of  the 
priests  the  voicts  of  spirits. 

Pala,  twenty  miits  inland  from  San  Luis  Rey,  is  another 
fascinating  spot.  The  little  church  never  attained  the 
dignity  of  becoming  a  fully  developed  mission,  but 
toda}',  as  in  the  olden  times,  it  is  the  place  of  worship 
for  all  the  Indians  in  the  countrj-  for  miles  around. 
Its  quaint  little  belfry,  overlooking  the  cemetery,  is  a 


MISSION   SAN  JUAN   CAPISTR AND  —  PATIO   FROM    NORTHWEST  CORNER. 

unique  feature,  and  the  decorations  in  the  church  are 
singularly  primitive  in  character,  with  saints  carved  and 
dressed  1)y  the  Indians,  and  colored  decorations  of  the 
crudest  character  upon  the  walls.  Pala  is  most  beauti- 
fully situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Palomares  Mountains,  in 
a  fertile  valley  where  the  Sau  Luis  Rey  River  winds 
through  a  tangle  of  verdure.  Between  the  mission  and 
the  Palma  and  Rincon  Indian  Agencies  is  as  lovely  a 
country  as  any  I  encountered  about  the  missions,  and  I 
was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  an  excellent  country 
inn  at  Pala,  so  removed  from  the  centers  of  civilization. 


S'\a  VD*vlrie  1    /\i;>S'i»n 


MISSION    ARCHES  — CAPISTRANO. 


SKti  r:rZ:^j. 


The  power  of  the  missions 
is  gone,  the  people  to  whom 
they  ministered  are  largely 
dead  and  scattered,  and  the 
buildings  are  rapidly  crum- 
bling into  dust,  but  about  them 
still  clings  an  atmosphere  of 
romance  and  poetry,  a  melan- 
chol}'  peace  which  is  sad,  yet 
beautiful  and  fascinating.  They 
hold  the  poet   and   painter   in 

their  spell,  but  for  the  pleasure-seeker  there  are  brighter 
scenes  and  happier  hours  awaiting  in  the  modern  centers 
of  life,  where  the  past  is  forgotten  and  where  the  days 
are  too  short  to  crowd  in  all  the  diversions  which  are  at 
hand.  Coronado  and  Pasadena,  Catalina  and  Mount 
Lowe  —  on  every  hand  are  sight-seers  and  pleasure- 
seekers,  and  the  old  life  is  but  diml}'  remembered  by 
the  new. 


1*6    i'/  in  r 


.;. 


135 


-'^-1/ 


r*-**--    'r   /. 


■  .  'i^ 

t 

1,^  if 

','■        ^ 

71 

1 '  ' 

/'       ^ 

1 '( : 

^  ? 

.:#■ 

t^l 

>  ^ 

1 

i  "^ 

f^  .^4 

i 

p; 

CONCLUSION. 


THERE  is  something  in  the  spirit  of  life  in  South- 
ern California  that  eludes  definition  and  analy- 
sis. There  is  so  much  genial  friendship  shown 
by  nature  that  it  is  contagious.  The  perpetual  sunshine 
warms  the  heart  as  well  as  the  body.  One  cannot  but 
be  light-hearted  when  the  birds  sing  all  day  long  and  the 
flowers  bloom  in  winter  as  in  summer.  The  stir  and 
stimulus  of  city  life 
is  here  and  the  peace  ''~^,t  '  y 
and    rest    of    nature  "^       '• 

Money  and  thought 
are  being  expended 
with  unremitting 
effort  upon  this  fa- 
vored corner  of  the  ' 
world  to  make  it  real- 
ize all  the  promise  of 
nature.  Homes  spring 
up  almost  in  a  daj',  and  green  lawns  and  waving  trees 
surround  them  in  a  season. 

It  is  a  country  that  mothers  love  to  come  to  with 
their  babies,  for  here  the  little  ones  play  out  of  doors  all 
day  long  and  nearly  every  day  in  the  year,  growing  fat 
and  rosy  and  merry.  It  is  a  land  of  prosperous  homes 
and  orange  groves ;  the  refinement  of  the  East  and 
West  is  united  here  in  the  one  endeavor  to  make  of 
Southern  California  a  fruitful,  beautiful,  and  so  far  as  lies 
within  human  power,  an  ideal  region.  No  wonder  its 
residents  are  proud  of  what  they  have  accomplished  ! 
Each  settlement  is  the  model  colony  and  each  town  is 


^:. 


'ii^'>  ■-.  '-^i 


''■^^; 


/In5«l 


destiued  to  be  the  metropolis,  but  it  is  a  pardonable 
pride  when  we  realize  how  vital  the  interest  of  each  man 
is  in  his  own  home  and  section,  when  we  realize  that  he 
has  made  it  out  of  a  waste  of  sand  and  sagebrush  by  his 
own  toil,  and  that  to  him  it  seems  a  veritable  miracle, 
p.^  this  sudden  sjiringing  of  a  gar- 

%deu  out  of  a  desert. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  feature 
which  so  fully  insures  the  future 
greatness  of  Southern  Califor- 
nia, and  which  is  so  frequently 

___  overlooked   by  its  admirers  as 

R«J.n«.  ^^.g    excellent     school     system. 

The  influence  of  the  State  University  has  been  most 
important  in  elevating  the  standard  of  instruction,  for 
both  the  pul)lic  and  private  schools  are  annually  exam- 
ined by  its  professors,  and  onl}-  those  schools  placed  on 
the  accredited  list  can  admit  students  to  the  University 
without  examinations.  It  is  sufficient  to  add  that 
although  the  requirements  are  rigidly  enforced,  the 
graduates  of  a  large  percentage  of  the  high  schools,  even 
in  country  towns,  are  allowed  to  enter  the  University 
without  examination  in  all  or  nearly  all  subjects. 

The  old  Southern  California,  so  graphicallj-  pictured 
by  Dana,  is  but  a  poetic  background  for  the  new,  so  dif- 
ferent, so  much  more  subtle  and  intricate  in  its  signifi- 
cance, fraught  with  such  boundless  promise  of  all  that  is 


138 


inspiring  in  modern  civilization.  It  is  a  region  where 
men  look  not  backward  but  forward,  preserving  only  in 
the  country's  names  the  romance  of  an  earlier  day.  In 
this  forward  look  they  see  the  commerce  of  the  Orient 
coming  to  their  doors  and  an  endless  procession  of  trains 
thundering  across  the  continent  freighted  with  the  prod- 
uce of  their  fields  and  groves.  Fourteen  thousand  car- 
loads of  oranges  were  sent  East  during  the  past  j-ear. 
What  may  not  the  future  bring  forth  ?  The  mission  bells 
are  cracked  and  the  adobe  walls  have  crumbled  away, 
but  phoenix-like  upon  their  ruins  has  grown  up  a  new 
life  and  a  new  people,  the  pioneers  of  enlightenment 
and  culture. 


Ad.  5.     1-30-02.     5M. 


The  H.  O.  Shepard  Cu.,  Primers.  212  214  Monroe  Street,  Chicago. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


JUN  1  2  1S35 


^OM  SEP  3  01814 
I  SEP  2  1  19''- 


MAP  1-1  '^"^ 

JUN  5      19^*^ 

JAN  e     19SI 

FEB2  31957 
REC'D  LD-U 


REC'D  LD 
8j      NOV     4  ■ 

NOV    3 

4UL3  0  12 


CD 


(JL  OCT  1 4  19W 
i!£C*D  LD-URl 


URL 
974 


1974 
,'  3 1 19T5 


L\J^^ 


1  0  1999 


JUN27130J 
Al^l^  15 199t  tHOCT  0  3  2000 


4  iu\ 


Form  L-9-i: 


Aiiiwii»St''. 

SEP  2  7  2002 


4W  '  c^  -Ql 

^JUN  1  1  2001 


UCl 


.^v 


Ui 


^c,iiLlTh!R-:I 


,;p,r-|M  1 IBRARY  f  ACILITY 


JVA       001  336  644 


INIA 


